


Bitty's Delivery Service

by itsybitsybitty



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Babies, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kiki's Delivery Service AU, M/M, Magical Realism, Married Couple, Mutual Pining, Pilot Jack, Plenty of Fluff, Witch Bitty, descriptions of plane/broomstick crashes, insinuation of premartial sex, not detailed descriptions of war, some elements of the movie have been changed or added on to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 01:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsybitsybitty/pseuds/itsybitsybitty
Summary: Eric Bittle never thought he'd ever leave his small town where he was born, raised, and learned the intricacies of the magic within him. Setting off into the stars at midnight, as tradition dictates, he sets off to a new land to carve a place in this world for himself and his magic. Along the way, he meets a band of pilots preparing for war he dreams will never come, and is particularly annoyed and enamored by their leader, Captain Jack Zimmermann.An affectionate Kiki's Delivery Service AU starring Eric Bittle as Kiki and Jack as a lovestruck pilot.
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 62
Kudos: 109
Collections: OMGCP Big Bang 2019





	1. A Perfect Night

Eric Richard Bittle was a witch.

Practically. He was getting there.

Dozing upon a clover hill not a mile from where he had been borne of magnolia and honey, the witch lay with his father’s “borrowed” radio. The sound of the weather caster’s voice was not nearly as sweet as the whistling wind that brought with it the fragrance of hundreds of wild azaleas.

“But, first, here's the weather forecast. Skies are clearing up, thanks to a high-pressure front moving in from the mountains. Mild winds will be blowing in from the west, pushing the clouds out by this evening,” the calming voice across the radio waves read.

A good night for flying, then. During warm summers like this, there was not a force on heaven nor Earth that could get Eric off of his trusted broomstick. When he flew up so high in the air, the cool wind in his hair, it felt like he was a part of the sky.

Eric opened his wide brown eyes, taking in the swiftly moving clouds just above him. This was his home. The countryside where a town was considered big and everyone packed in their little jalopy to visit its sights. But there had to be more than this.

There had to be more. Somewhere with mountains, somewhere near the endless oceans. In all of Eric’s travels across the idyllic and dull countryside, not once had he ever ventured farther than where he could see, farther than what the horizon would warrant.

He let his eyes fall closed, sighing.

“There'll be a beautiful full moon lighting up the sky, so if you have been planning something special, tonight might be the night—”

The weathercaster continued but Eric couldn’t hear a single word, sitting up straight, a gasp ripping from his lips. Tonight? _ Tonight_?

Standing and turning off the corded radio, Eric turned on his heels and sprinted through the meadows, mindful of bees and their labors. Across the wild field, down the glen and down the dirt road until he could see the creek beside their shrouded house.

* * *

Hidden from the outside world and along a beaten path, the Bittle house and their gardens were also the workshop for his mother, the village of Madison’s resident witch. As a master of potions, if there was an elixir that could bring about luck or love or even curing rheumatism, many would humbly flock to her door.

The very door that Eric burst through to get into the greenhouse round the other side of their humble home.

“Shitty! Shitty! I think it’s tonight!” He called out into the house, his bare feet skidding to a stop when he noticed his black cat, Shitty, lounging in the sun, properly sitting in a potted plant. The fronds bending to support his body, as though it were an armchair.

Not approving of the name the cat called himself, he was dubbed Basil by his mother. Shitty was not amused.

“Dude, dude, slow up, pump the brakes,” with a toothy yawn, his black cat opened his eyes and shook himself a little, as though trying to rouse himself from the potting soil. His whiskers flicked this way and that, a white mustache mark below his nose made him look like a disgruntled mustachioed man. “What’s tonight?”

“We’re leaving.”

Shitty properly fell out of the clay pot, yowling when his shock over took and tossed him over the lip. “We’re _ what_?”

Padding along the hardwood floors to the greenhouse, he laid a hand on the knob and remembered to stop and breathe, centering himself before walking inside. His mother was likely with a client, if the automobile out front wasn’t an indication enough. As he walked into the sweltering greenhouse, Eric took a moment to thank each plant silently as he hurried along the narrow rows to his mother. His fingers tingled and nearly snapped, pulsing with energy unseen. At last, through another heavy oak door, he entered his mother’s workstation and sitting area.

* * *

As he walked inside, Eric was nearly swept off his feet with memories. This was where he had grown up proper, when not in the sky or the wilds. He would sit at his mother’s feet or in the client’s lap, watching as his mother performed her magic, her skill of utmost importance to her and their family.

A witch’s skill was how their magic breathed and made themselves seen. For some, they could conjure up fortunes of love and loss, while others could heal the meek and wounded. His mother could bend plant’s natural powers to her will and Eric never stopped being inspired by her skill and the ease with which she wielded it.

Eric turned and inclined his head to Miss Dora, the elderly woman who adored his mother’s salves and potions for her arthritis and other symptoms. In turn, he adored her for her sense of calm and bemusement with life and its problems.

“Mornin’ Miss Dora, excuse me,” Eric turned to his mother, clasping his hands before him, unsure and worried.

“What is it, honey?” Suzanne Bittle turned her head towards her only son, surprise plain on her face. Her son hadn’t barged in quite like this since he was a small boy.

“The radio says tonight there’ll be a full moon and clear skies.”

The sudden look of worry and understanding crossed her face, as though the sun emerged from behind a cloud of confusion, “Oh.”

“This is the last one before next month. When I have to… leave home,” Eric looked down, his throat closing up on him.

His mother looked equally crestfallen, her hands clenched tightly around her two beakers of greens and flower bulbs. “It would be the perfect midnight. Eric? Wait—”

Eric turned and left as swiftly as he came.

The beakers in his mother’s hands turned black and exploded, nearly breaking the beaker but leaving a comical smoke cloud in its wake.

“My, oh, my. What’s all this about?” Miss Dora piped up, her eyes bad but her ears in perfect working order. She leaned on her walking stick that had aided her into the house and into the plush wicker chair she sat in.

With a frustrated sigh, Suzanne remembered to center herself before returning to her potions. “It's one of our oldest customs that when a witch turns 21, they have to leave home for a year to begin their training.”

“Your baby boy is 21? My goodness,” she chuckled affectionately, shaded by large fronds and blossoming flowers. She had no doubt seen many babies grow and blossom as her son had. “Time flies so quickly.”

“I know, he seems so young still. To be leaving home? He was so good, he waited practically 11 months since turning 21 to find a time to go but…” Eric had seemed too eager to fly everywhere during the day. She and her husband had taken to scouting the skies after sunset in case Eric had decided to leave early.

But he always returned, as though afraid going somewhere would never bring him back.

“I remember very well the exact day you arrived in this town. A beautiful young woman flew down from the sky on her broomstick. And I was certain she was much too young to hold such an important job as resident witch,” Miss Dora recounted, her voice growing thick with fond memories behind them all.

Lifting her hand to will the plants, she added all she needed until there was a golden, perfectly formed cloud of smoke that rose from the beaker in her hand, the elixir complete, ready to be bottled and sent with their favorite customer.

“To think out there there’s a town that needs Eric as their resident witch. What joy he has brought to us and what joy he’ll bring to others,” said Miss Dora, leaning against her walking stick as she reached out a shaking hand to hold the green, corked bottle. “While it does mean that the sun will shine a little less here, it’ll be so bright where he is.”

* * *

Eric paced in his room, rubbing his arms as he hesitantly began to pack, making sure to pack his money tin and his stationery to reach his parents back home. He threw it all in his messenger bag, unsure of where he was going or if he should go at all.

“Okay, listen, brother. I’m proud of you getting out there and seeing greener pastures. Or the ocean, remember how much you like the ocean, man?” Shitty stepped forward, spitting out the man’s comb so it went into the bag, helping his witch pack. “This is a good thing that you’ve been putting off for basically a year, man. You’re basically 22.”

“I know, I know, one more month and I’d probably age out of my magic altogether,” Eric said nervously, sitting on the floor.

Purring, his black cat crawled into his lap, kneading his head against his stomach, “Dude, listen… I know you’ve been playing it safe, and it was a great plan. But plans come to an end, right? What are you worried about?”

Failing. Miserably.

“Well, besides the obvious? You are going away to cross the horizon just like you always said. I hate turning around at that old green barn in the next county over. Beyond Madison, don’t you think you’re capable of great things, brother?” Shitty asked, looking up at him with his big eyes.

“I don’t even have my skill yet, and Coach was looking forward to going on a camping trip to see if my skill is survival or something to do with the woods,” Eric said weakly.

Shitty paused before blinking, his massive whiskers flicking to and fro, “I’m going to put my paws together and _ pray _ you’re not seriously going to put off your magic and your freedom for going on a manly camping trip with your dad that you know you’re going to hate anyway.”

“You know Mama will take good care of you when we’re gone.”

“Don’t try and bribe me with that sweet woman!” Shitty sighed, exasperated, “You’ve got big things coming for you, Eric. I’m gonna be sitting front and center, brother. Come on, man, let me see you become awesome. We all know it’s going to happen. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. What else are black cats for?”

Eric chuckled when Shitty pressed his face against his cheek, embracing him, “Being bad luck?”

“Hell no I ain’t bad luck.”

* * *

Eric’s dad didn’t say anything. Not when he got home from work and was told about the camping trip being cancelled, not after he called all their relatives and acquaintances to see him off, not even when they sat down to his favorite dinner. The man was made of marble. And Eric was terrified.

At last he would be gone from his father’s watchful eye, like his magic would be associated with sports or with something he was interested in. But no matter how many fishing trips they went on or how many times he tried to take Eric hunting (he always refused to go), his magic appeared to be just flying. Which seemed to appease his father for a while.

In the south where they lived, “witch” was still a gender-specific term. Many more women than men held the magic within them. And men young and old were good at keeping it hidden from nosy neighbors in the dewey morning or by a midnight’s moon. Some, when they found out, let it fizzle and fade away instead of breaking ties with their family and community. His parents had never been so conservative as that as they supported their son… Even if it meant that Eric was spending more time with his mother.

A disproportionate amount as the menfolk would say.

Eric had no idea what his skill was, but he prayed it was something his father would approve of.

In the lowlight of his room, the hour drew nearer as his mother pulled out what had been passed down for generations: dark purple robes. He donned his black pants and black collared shirt and drew the dark robes against him with an air of finality. He was going.

But he would go his way, even if it felt like tradition was tugging at him.

“I look like I’m going to a funeral.” It was an omen, he was convinced.

Suzanne laughed, “Witches have worn this color for a very long time, Eric.”

“That’s not particularly reassuring.”

Resting her chin on Eric’s shoulder, his mother met his skeptical gaze in the large ornate mirror in his room. “But it’s not really important what color your robes are. What matters is the heart inside.”

Turning into her embrace, Eric murmured, “I’m gonna try to be the best witch I can be, Mama.”

“Just follow your heart and keep smiling.”

* * *

The earth was warm beneath his feet, as though coaxing him to fly. Eric had his leather messenger bag slung across his shoulder, a wide-open pocket for Shitty to crawl into when the wind grew strong and cold in the air. It was packed with clothing, sandwiches, and anything else he could fit.

So why did he feel so empty?

Warm faces of clients and family surrounded him, giving him hugs and advice the closer he got to midnight. The sky was clear, and the stars sparkled in the sky. In no time at all he would be close enough to touch them.

“It’s time, Eric…” His mother’s hand fell on his shoulder, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you,” Eric turned away from his mother and saw his father nod and walk into the house. Lip quivering, Eric looked down at the ground and took a deep breath.

The family and friends moved aside, giving Eric a clear place to take off. A warm wind teased around his ankles, trying to ease him into the sky.

“Hold up, son,” a gruff voice called out. Turning back to the front door, Eric blinked, surprised.

Coach Bittle jogged out of the house, a small wooden box in his hand. “Forgot to give this to you,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, handing it to Eric.

Pausing, Eric turned to look up in surprise at his father and back down to the box in his palm. “Got this for you ‘cause, Lord you look like you’re fixin’ to go to a funeral.” He handed it over without fanfare.

Opening the box cautiously, Eric saw a bright red silken bowtie. A pop of color in his otherwise drab outfit. The sight of the gift made the witch’s heart soar in a way he had only felt when flying.

“Coach… it’s too much,” Eric protested even as the man took the bowtie and helped him lace it up and put it on.

“Nonsense. I’ve had it since you turned 21. Been waiting to give it to you,” Coach shook his head, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He placed his hands on his hips and finally took in his son, 21 years old and leaving home for a year to train. To train to be something that Eric didn’t even know if he approved of.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were growing up so fast?” He asked, his father’s voice quiet and vulnerable between the two men. Eric felt his heart break a little, tears coming to his eyes. “None of that.” Coach bent down and wrapped up Eric in his arms.

At first Eric could have swore that he was flying, but was equally surprised when he found it was Coach lifting him off the ground a few inches for a strong hug, “Write to your mama and I, okay? Wanna know you’re safe.”

Eric pulled back and nodded, the embrace over, his heart filled so far to the brim he swore it would overflow. “Thank you, Coach. Time will just fly.”

Back to being the gruff, quiet father, the man nodded, gesturing up to the sky though he understood flying as well as what he saw on the television set. “Speaking of flying, you should get. You know.”

Nodding eagerly, Eric put a leg over his broom, Shitty assuming the position over his bag. Years of flying at all speeds and weather had made him an amazing copilot of the skies. He could often read the winds better than his witch could.

Gathering his magic and centering himself, he could feel the magic within him guide him up off the ground, hovering a few feet before taking off like those biplanes. The wind guiding him along, he could hear cheers below him of his friends and family. No doubt Miss Dora was waving in his general direction, and his mother was probably crying, and his father… he hoped he had a smile on his face.

But he couldn’t see them now. Now, he had his eyes trained to the horizon. 

And he was going to cross it.


	2. Flyboy

Shitty swiped his paw and turned on the radio, blasting a comforting pop song as he drifted along the winds on his broom. It was safe, sturdy and crafted by his own hands to be obedient and reliable. He had no need for the fast brooms of the age that were only more dangerous.

With a deep breath, Eric looked down below and saw them pass the green barn the next county over. Sure enough, when he turned over his shoulder to look: his house and village were gone. This was the farthest he had ever been from home.

“How you doin’, Bitty?” Shitty’s voice was cautious and tender.

Bitty was the nickname that his black cat had given him, something special that connected the pair of them just like flying. The pair had been together since Eric’s powers began. His mother said that one morning when he had been toddling around in the garden, honeysuckle blooming at his fingertips, Shitty, fully grown and talking, had curled up around him and she found the pair sleeping in the sun. Inseparable.

But not forever.

Once Eric’s training was over, a year from that very day, he would no longer need Shitty. No one quite knew where a witch’s black cat went. But they were gone. Perhaps to help another witch or to retire from rearing a witch’s magical talents.

“I’m doing good, Shitty,” Eric chuckled. He had called him Basil until he was 12. Then he started using the “dirty” word once Shitty blurted it out one day. He’d been grounded plenty of times if his mother heard the foul language. Since she couldn’t hear Shitty, they could never confirm his name.

Across a vast lake, through the fumes of factories, and along highways, Eric tried to find his way towards the ocean. “Hey, Bitty… look at that!”

A low thrumming began from far away, steadily growing louder and louder, but no matter which way Eric looked or how ardently Shitty yelled to get out of the way, he couldn’t place the sound of the engine. The sound began to shake his broom and stir the air, the whirring of propeller blades went over his head, nearly causing Eric to fall out of the sky with a terrified scream. Dipping down unsteadily, his broom was spooked.

“I tried to warn you, man!” The cat shook unsteadily, his claws deep in Eric’s messenger bag that contained all the young witch owned.

When Eric finally got a good grip on his broom, he glared at the red biplane that continued on, oblivious to the near collision of motor and magic. The biplane was so fiercely scarlet it was annoying, as though it were pompous enough to challenge anything, or anyone, in the skies for its place there.

Well. Eric would have to give the pilot a piece of his mind.

Speeding up his broom, Shitty screeched as Eric leaned and shot forward, moving up to the pilot’s cockpit. He caught the air currents just right, catching into his air pocket before being swept away by the propellers.

Eric waved a hand over his throat and made a pushing motion towards the man, using a bit of his magic to create a two-way channel over the roar of the propellers. “Excuse you, you dense air jockey!”

Turning his head suddenly at the noise, the pilot looked everywhere, shocked to hear another voice in the sky. His goggles obscured his gaze, the only human part of this large, cacophonous machine. “Over here!”

The pilot turned to his left where Eric flew beside him, glaring at him from across the sky. “Did I almost hit a witch?” Was his stunned, shouting reply. But what spread across his face wasn’t a look of horror or worry, rather it was a surprised, amused smile.

“You almost killed me! Stop smiling!” Eric cried out. “And stop shouting, I can hear you just fine!”

The pilot had the decency to sound impressed, though there was still a wry tilt to his lips, “You shouldn’t be out here! There’s a storm coming soon, I’m going to land for shelter!”

“The weather man said clear you—”

“I’m a pilot, I don’t need a weatherman to—”

“Excuse me? I’m a witch on a broomstick, I know what the sky is doing!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” Eric fumed, unable to calm himself down to feel the gentle drips of rain striking him or the broom. Shitty tugged at Eric’s robes. “Hey Eric… I think we should land like he says.”

Eric turned on his black cat, “He just tried to kill us, and you’re taking his side?”

The pilot didn’t look too surprised that the witch was speaking to his cat, though it showed on his face he was pleased the cat agreed with him. “Hey, if I wanted to kill you, believe me, you’d be dead.”

The witch helped Shitty into the messenger bag and buttoned it closed, keeping his black cat out of the conversation. 

“Is that a  _ threat _ ?” Eric gasped. “Gonna run me out of the sky, flyboy?”

“ _ Flyboy _ ? Look who’s talking, broomstick boy.”

Oh he didn’t.

“Got something against my broomstick you—”

A loud clap of thunder shook the sky, with it sudden rain pouring down from the heavens. Eric cried out and lifted one of his hands to shield himself from the sudden downpour and crash of the heavens. “Bitty!” Shitty cried out in his bag, poking his head out. 

“Stay inside!” Eric looked down at his messenger bag, tucking his friend safer inside. 

“You’ve got to get to the ground!” The pilot tried to advise over the din of the rain and the howling wind. The witch’s broom caught unsteadily in the wind, knocking him off of his balance, a blindingly bright flash of lightning and blast of thunder breaking Eric’s hold on the skies, sending his broom, Shitty, and the witch plummeting to the ground. 


	3. Awake

The first sensation that Eric could recall was warmth. The beat of the rain had been so violent, a torrent and sudden storm that both the biplane and himself had found themselves in. Shitty… Where was Shitty? Blearily opening his eyes, Eric struggled to make out where he was. He had survived the storm, that much was clear… but where was his black cat?

He was looking up through clouded eyes at a… ceiling? He was no longer one with the sky, grounded instead, looking up into the high rafters of a barn. The storm still raged outside, the ground shaking when a strike of lightning and its roar of thunder was too close.

It was dark outside with no lights of a village nearby. When Eric had planned his flight, he had hoped to align himself with the stars and travel to the east to find an ocean. This abrupt change of plan left him cold and frightened. He sat up, or tried to, at least. 

A large arm had found its way across his chest underneath the warmth of a pilot jacket. The snoozing face of an un-goggled idiot pilot was not inches away from his own. Eric gasped and sprang from his embrace as well as his bruised and tired body could.

His broom had been thoughtfully propped against one of the aged wood beams of the barn. Eric sighed with relief as he grasped it in his hands, hugging it to his body. Not a scratch after all that. It seemed that even falling through the air, he had kept a fierce grip on his trusted broom. 

Shitty lifted his head at the sudden movement, sleeping on his back in a nearby pile of hay. Coiled like a spring, as soon as the pilot realized that something was moving or something was amiss, he was awake and standing, as though prepared for action. His stance calmed when he realized that the witch was awake, sitting back down.

“Oh, it’s just you. Do you feel alright?”

Eric took a few moments to sputter before gesturing wildly to the storm raging outside a partially opened barn door and the cow-inhabited building they had just been sleeping in.

“How is this, in any way, alright?!”

The pilot looked unamused but watched as the small black cat hurled himself into the witch’s arms, meowing and purring up a storm. The witch sighed and embraced him before snapping, “Yes I’m fine and no I won’t apologize!”

“You should listen to the cat, I saved your life.”

“By endangering it with your reckless flying first,” Eric snapped.

The pilot tipped his head back and laughed, the sound rich and deep and made Eric feel warm inside. “That was not reckless flying, believe me. I’m a fighter pilot.”

“Oh, so you’re  _ used  _ to killing people in the air.” Eric turned away when he realized that the laughter had been cruelly directed at him, petting a flustered Shitty. The man grew quiet on his side of the barn, looking out towards the storm.

The stranger bit out a frustrated reply, “I haven’t killed anyone.”

Eric huffed, looking away before he looked out into the storm. The plane had moved into the barn like a hangar, protected from the wind and fierce elements. Deep within him, he could feel the power of this storm, knowing that it wouldn’t abate as quickly as he wanted it to. By the same silence that the pilot had, he knew that he must feel the same.

Eric set his broom back down. They were stuck until morning, at least. 

“So…” Eric turned to the stranger, “What is your name?”

The man had dark hair,  Eric could see now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the barn. There were a few oil lamps near him that were low and ready to be extinguished. This stranger was older than Eric, though he knew it couldn’t have been by much. His jaw was proud and his eyes gleamed a cold blue that reached across the length of the cow barn. Luckily the cattle slumbered on, despite their bickering and the maelstrom outside.

Reclining back into the hay, the stranger stretched, “I thought witches knew everything.”

“They know when someone’s being rude.”

“But not when someone has just saved their life.”

That shut Eric right up, his mouth closing instantly. He set down Shitty and went to go sit down by this perfect stranger that had nearly killed him, yet plucked him from the sky. Perhaps he truly was an acrobat of the air like he described.

“Thank you, Jack.”

The stranger gasped, “So it’s true! You really do know everything.” 

“It’s written on your jacket, Captain,” Eric reached out and touched the patch that had been stitched into the brown, worn leather.

Jack laughed again, quieter, but still impressed. “Good one, uh…?”

“Eric.”

Mama’s first rule of not speaking to strangers had long been thrown out the window by this point, especially considering that not moments ago they had laid together asleep to keep warm from the cold front’s mighty gusts through the uneven slats and holes in the barn.

“Eric the witch,” Jack mused, watching as Eric pointed at the oil lamps, extinguishing each of them with a subtle gesture, “and who’s your sidekick?”

“This is Shitty.”

“I’m sorry?”

“His name is Shitty.”

“That’s not nice.”

It was Eric’s turn to laugh at Jack’s offended face, as though he couldn’t condone calling a cat that. “It’s true, it’s what he wanted to be named. My mama tried to name him Basil but when I was old enough, he told me what his real name was.”

Jack threw a wink over to the cat, who had taken a liking to Jack in the meantime, abandoning his hay pile to cuddle into the pilot’s side like a big spoon.

“That’s a ballsy name.” Jack looked outside and back to Eric who sat beside him where they were. Though, decidedly farther away. “Come on, it’s late and you’ve had a hell of a day.” He shifted over his leather jacket to Eric’s chest. “Sleep.”

There was a lot of truth in what the man said. It was late, there was no escape from the storm, and the pair of them were stuck in a chilly barn with no one but the other to keep warm. They couldn’t start a fire or keep a lamp lit in these dry conditions, surrounded by hay.

Eric sighed, as though this were a great chore, when in reality it was a great risk, a great shock to his system. Laying with a handsome man, no matter the circumstance, survival or no, was scandalous. The pilot certainly didn’t seem to think so. Not wanting to show his hand at his inexperience with men, Eric obliged him. “Fine.”

“Thank you for making the sacrifice,” Jack retorted, finding a comfortable place laying on the floor of a barn. Well, there was one thing about him that Eric admired, he didn’t mind getting a little dirty. Living in the country had certainly taken that from the witch. 

It wasn’t long before the pair of them had fallen asleep again, exhausted from their respective flying in the sky.

* * *

In only a few hours, the sun peered over the horizon, as though peeking through the barn door at the sleeping strangers. In their great slumber, Eric had shifted back into Jack’s chest, snoozing softly. Had his quest been to find the most handsome man he had ever beheld, Eric would be quite contented. But the perfect town wouldn’t wait for a witch, especially when it had an ocean with waves to kiss at his heels. 

Eric blinked slowly awake, confused for a moment at what he was gazing at. It wasn’t before the blurry shape mooed irritably that he remembered his near-death experience in the air. That he remembered the air jockey that had nearly flattened him in the sky during a storm. He also remembered their barbs they tossed at one another, as well as the warm jacket they shared in the gusty cold winds of night.

Speaking of which, Eric tried to move but found it impossible with an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as he squirmed against his insistent hold. Jack had covered his back with his body, his strong youthful body hardened by military service.

The witch tried hard not to focus on the physical attributes of the man and, instead, wished that he could somehow free himself from the hold. “Mr. Zimmermann…” He tried but, to his horror and most secret delight, he felt a pair of warm and soft lips kiss behind his neck.

Eric was frozen in shock. Had Jack just kissed him? The pilot that could fly no better than a toddler on his first broom ride? He gasped, scandalized. Sleepily, the pilot kissed him again under his ear, in a spot that Eric had  _ no _ idea was sensitive until that very moment. It was undeniable, Eric melted at the tender touch before he, stubbornly, came to his senses. He elbowed the pilot in the sensitive underbelly, pleased when he awoke in a grunt, sagging. 

The witch rose to his feet and glared down at him, his pilot’s jacket still hanging off of his shoulder from where it had kept the pair of them warm. “Good morning to you, too,” Jack bit out, raising his head to glare up at Eric.

“That was not a good morning, that was disgusting is what it was! Taking advantage of a witch you just met!” Eric cried.

Jack blinked in confusion before Eric finished, “You kissed my neck!”

“Oh of course, what an abuse that is, being kissed in the morning,” Jack rolled his eyes.

“And you don’t even have the nerve to say you’re sorry!”

Shitty blearily opened his eyes from where he had curled up beside Jack and looked between the two of them, wishing he could have a bit of breakfast so early in the morning before listening to bickering. “Fine, I’m sorry, does that make you feel better?”

“No! What if I had a beau and you just kissed me like that?”

“You have a sweetheart? Oh please.”

Eric’s mouth hung open in shock. “How dare you.”

Jack stood a little shakily to his feet, looking over at his plane, a white insignia stretching up the side of the biplane. It looked uninjured in the storm. Unfortunately. What a joy it would have been to leave this pilot stranded in a cow barn.

“I just mean, if you’re elbowing every lover you’ve brought home, then you don’t have many sweethearts left, I’m guessing.”

Gathering his things and approaching the barn door, Eric blushed and looked away, “I have plenty, excuse you.”

A beat of silence passed between them before Jack finally smirked. “You don’t have any, do you? Have you ever  _ had _ a sweetheart?” The cows slowly woke up and began to moo, as if participating in the argument between the two strangers.

“Whose business is it that I have or haven’t? At least I’m not so unfaithful that I have nothing but notches to carve into a good for nothing plane!” Eric glared at the red, outrageously colored contraption. “I think we all know who you love the most.”

It was Jack’s turn to glare at the witch, “And who’s that?”

“Yourself.”

That did it. Jack’s features crumbled into the same shocked and offended grimace that Eric had given him. He hoped that it stung like lemon in a wound.

Eric turned on his heel and patted his bag for Shitty to climb aboard, “C’mon, Bitty, don’t be mad…he was so comfy to snuggle with.” The witch snatched his broom from where it had stood last night. 

“I don’t care,” Eric snapped. “Good day, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“It’s Captain Zimmermann!” The pilot shouted after him before the witch took off once more through the air, in the direction of his future and the ocean.


	4. New

After more than his fair share of fuming about the pilot, Shitty finally deadpanned, “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t be too hard on him.”

“I shouldn’t be  _ what _ ? You are supposed to defend me, you’re  _ my _ black cat,” Eric reminded.

“Regardless, bro, you need to calm down. He didn’t see us when he was flying. And you’re wearing all black, it’s not like you’re very visible,” Shitty pointed out.

Eric glared at the horizon, “I am not I have my father’s bowtie.”

“…no you don’t.”

The witch’s hand shot to his throat, the bowtie missing from his person. Eric felt himself deflate immediately, the broom even sinking a few feet in the sky as he continued on slowly.

He couldn’t go back and face that cruel pilot. He just couldn’t.

“I… I’ll get it tomorrow, after we find our village and we can go and thank the farmer for shelter in his barn,” Eric said instead, though his mood was black. The one piece of evidence he had that his father didn’t believe him to be a total failure, and it was hidden in the hay in a cow barn.

Shitty purred and nudged into his side, “You should take better care next time and check to make sure you’ve got everything. You were so angry, you nearly left without me.”

“I could never forget you, Shitty,” Eric promised, grateful, even though it was a very small amount, that he was there and they still had one another.

Only a few more minutes passed before Eric heard a terrible screech. Looking up, his face burst into sunshine when he saw a seagull flying overhead. He beamed and pointed excitedly to Shitty, “Look! We’re close!”

More and more of these birds joined with Eric, as though they had formed their own flock, heading for the brine of the sea. He could smell it on the wind, the salty and refreshing scent. He was finally somewhere where he could settle down and focus on his skills as a witch. He could carve his own niche into the world and help others by doing… something.

Eric didn’t want to think about what would happen to him at the end of his year of training and he had accomplished nothing.

What would his parents think? What would his  _ father _ think? He shuddered at the thought.

He had a whole year now that he had left to find his way. And, at 21, nearly 22, that was more than a little terrifying. Riding the gusts towards the ocean, Eric gasped at what he saw below.

A town, no, a  _ city _ , grew like a flowering bush upon a high cliff surrounding the water. It almost appeared to be an island, with rolling hills of buildings and, the tallest of all, a clock tower. Everything looked so beautiful, the red brick of houses and crowded shopfronts glinting in the distance. This was beautiful. Sent along the wave were slews of boats of all shapes and sizes, tugging along or steaming ahead on different errands and missions.

This was what Eric had always dreamed of.

In the small village where he had come from, anonymity was always something he craved. To be able to sit in a café along a stone-paved street and drink iced coffees without people, three at a time, coming up to him to ask favors of his mother or to inquire about his love life, health, or any other detail about himself he was hesitant to share.

Here, he could be resident witch but he wouldn’t need to be known by everyone. He could walk along the street and no one will notice or care or ask him questions about being a witch. Eric was practically vibrating in excitement.

The city had an old age to it, as though it had stood for years, splashed with the salt of the sea. Bridges reached out to shake the island’s hand, its banks caressed by the kiss of waves in its ports and along its beaches. Eric soared up into the sky, mindful of the aircraft that dashed this way and that. Far to the east, he saw multiple biplanes in the sky, moving at fast speeds as well as the sound of cannon fire. No one else looked particularly concerned in their small automobiles and bicycles, so Eric tried to blend in.

Dipping down to the streets below, Eric followed the cobblestone streets, feet above the people walking below. Everyone wore such colorful clothes and petticoats, the men dressed in vibrant fashions or humble worker’s clothes. Everyone seemed to be here, people of all races and creeds he had never met before. He had to live here.

“Show off,” Shitty muttered as Eric floated above the street, his head held high.

“I’m trying to make a good impression,” Eric murmured. People had started to stop in their paths, pointing up at the sky. Some even clapped as he floated along. It didn’t seem like people really knew witches here. Perhaps he could be this city’s resident witch, after all. But in a city this size, Eric didn’t mind sharing the people and the space.

With a deep breath, Eric floated down, down, down past the face of the clock tower and its keeper who waved jovially. He managed a small wave back to him and the women and children who had gathered at their balconies, waving frantically at their first sighting of a real witch.

Landing on the balls of his feet, Eric smiled serenely as he looked out into the people. And straight into a green light in a busy intersection.

With a scream, Eric was swarmed by automobiles and work trucks and horse drawn carriages, bicycles, and motorists taking to the streets. All of their drivers raged and their horns blared as Eric looked around at the big city in panic. Shitty yelled with him as he got back on his broom and shot up, hitting the traffic light, nearly running into a double decker bus and speeding into the crowd below, shooting down by ankles and shoulders before rounding a corner and sinking to his feet once more.

Eric pressed up against the brick wall near an art gallery, panting as he tried to get his legs to stop shaking. “How is that the  _ second _ time we’ve almost been killed in less than a day, man?” The people walking by stopped, their arms filled with groceries and bags for shopping. Business people pushed right past them.

Unsure of what to do, Eric bowed respectfully, “Hi there y’all, my name is Eric, I’m a witch.” There was a beat of silence. Obviously. “Well, I’d like to find someplace to—”

The group moved on when the crossing light turned on, a little old lady assuring him, “Oh that’s nice dear, buh-bye.”

Eric watched them go and was soon struck that he had no idea where he was in a large city and didn’t know where he was going to sleep for the night. Perhaps a hotel could take him in? “HEY YOU! HALT!”

A police man sprinting towards him, his arms pumping, came to a skidding stop, pointing his finger in his face, “Who do you think you are, jumping out into the street like that? You were almost responsible for a big accident, zooming around on your broom back there.”

Surprised at the man’s expectoration and red face, Eric almost didn’t know what he was talking about, until he remembered his landing not a few moments ago. “Oh, but I’m a new witch, sir, we’re supposed to fly around.”

“Ha! You’re supposed to obey my law, I mean the law,” the officer amended as he pulled out a small notebook, “I’m gonna have to write you up. Now, give me your name and address.”

Eric felt smaller than he had in years, his chest seizing as he realized that he was messing this up already so spectacularly. Not a minute in the city and he had already been given a ticket. “But, I don’t have a home yet. I’m new to this city today.”

The man glared, “That’s not my problem, you’ll be taken in, we can’t have homeless people on the street—”

“THIEF! HELP! A THIEF! SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE!”

The police officer reeled on his heels and turned to look at the busy streets, spotting someone he believed was running in the distance. “Huh?”

“HE’S GETTING AWAY!” The voice yelled again in the crowded streets and the police officer took off, pulling out his club as he took off in pursuit. “Stay right there!”

As the man turned around the corner, Shitty spoke up from his place in the messenger bag, “Oh hell no, let’s get out of here.”

Eric hesitated, “He said to stay…”

“That is  _ fate _ , Bitty, get going!” The cat protested.

Though he was still a little shaken, Eric turned and continued down the cobblestone street, trying to think of where he could go and find a place to sleep that night, where he could begin to study and test his talents. He didn’t know anyone in this city, he was sure. He didn’t know anyone outside of their village and the next county over. He’d never even met another witch that wasn’t his mother before.

“Hey!” It was the same voice that had called out for the police officer and Eric clung to his messenger bag in fear the thief would come and take it from him. What he saw, on the other hand, was Captain Jack Zimmermann on a motorcycle pulling up beside him.

There was no way on Earth this was happening.

“Hey, Mr. Witch. I sure fooled that cop, huh?” He asked. The man still wore his pilot’s jacket, but instead of goggles to protect his face from the elements, he wore aviator sunglasses, his hair windswept from being on that dangerous machine. Yet another dangerous contraption, Eric was sensing a theme.

Eric turned and looked back down the street, starting to walk again. Jack walked along beside him, stepping off of his Indian motorcycle to walk in the street beside him. The sweet smell of honeysuckle atop someone’s balcony may have been a good sign for things to come if Eric wasn’t in the presence of this idiot with a death wish.

“You’re as cold as ice,” Jack whistled, “you can’t even thank me for saving you.”

Glaring at him from the corner of his eye, Eric ground out a poor thank you under his breath.

“You’re welcome, little witch. You’re pretty fast on that broom of yours, you got here even before I did. This is where my base is. I’m the Captain of the Falconers, that’s where we—”

“Look, thank you for helping me with that policeman, but I don’t need you talking more about yourself right now. I’m already convinced that you are the most self-centered man in the sky, but thank you for the commercial, anyway,” Eric snapped, a hand going to his hip. His worries weighed on him heavily, wondering where he was going to find somewhere to sleep tonight.

And it was not going to be in a barn underneath a leather jacket with a buffoon.

Jack was quiet, though not as scandalized as when he had first accused him of his vanity in the barn, instead he smiled, which threw Eric completely off.

Kicking out the stand for the motorcycle, Jack finally stepped up to the pavement, looking across the space between them respectfully. A moment passed before he took off his newsboy cap, brushing it against his leg awkwardly. “And to think I was going to give this back to you…” He reached into his pocket and handed the bundle hidden in his hand to Eric.

His fist held out to the witch, Eric hesitated before finally, momentarily, trusting the fly boy and sticking his hand out to him. With one whisper of soft fabric, Eric knew immediately what it was. He gasped and took it from Jack, looking down at the red in his hands. Tucking his broom into the crook of his elbow, Eric wrapped it around his neck and put his bowtie back where it belonged, close to him.

As he fixed and toyed with it in an antique shop window, Eric caught a glimpse of the pilot behind him, looking sheepish but pleased at the proceedings. Turning, Eric sighed. “Thank you. I was so scared when I thought I had lost this…”

“No worries, I found it.” Jack winked.

Shitty meowed and leaned forward, pleased when Jack teased the spot right between his ears.

“Traitor,” Eric murmured, albeit affectionately to his little black cat. Jack chuckled and looked up at Eric, sincerity laced in his gaze.

“If you need a place to stay, we can make room for you at the Haus, our base of operations and training,” Jack promised, “We’re a little rowdy, well, um, actually a little more than that.” He gestured to the shop window and Eric followed where he had indicated.

A small red and white sign in harried handwritten script insisted: WILL NOT SERVE FALCONERS. “It’s funny. We’re this city’s pride and joy, and yet they know how much we love to break stuff and have a bit of fun. I’m trying to iron them out, though.” He promised Eric with a wink. The witch felt his cheeks heat up.

“Well, I have a friend here in the city, but if I ever need some help, I’ll stop by.” That sentence was laced with so many lies that it was a wonder he got through it with a straight face.

Doffing his cap once more, Jack returned to his motorbike. “So… I wanted to ask if tonight you’d—” With a rush of air, Jack turned from where he had been putting up his kickstand to marvel at the near stranger ascending back into the blue sky.

“What a handsome witch.”


	5. Lodging

His shoes sinking into the plush carpeting of the fancy hotel lobby, Eric struggled to explain just who he was. “I’m a witch in training, sir. I’m seeking lodging.”

The manager looked as lost as Eric, “I understand, sir, but I’m afraid our prices are a little steep for your price range. And to give away a room  _ for free _ …”

“I was never asking about a free room.”

Raising an eyebrow, it was clear the manager had believed he heard otherwise. “We will not sponsor a witch at this time. If you’re anything like those Falconer folk, we’ll be swamped with all kinds of questionable characters.” He reached for a sign that had been hanging from the front desk and added a rapidly written note to the thick paper.

_ We have the right to deny a room to anyone. Including Falconers. And witches _ .

The latter was scribbled on quickly and returned to hanging at the front desk, as though that would conclude the conversation. Already the manager had answered his phone sitting just in front of him, which hadn’t rung. As he carried on his imaginary conversation, Eric rolled his eyes and Shitty hissed irritably. 

Back out into the early evening, Eric began to walk yet again in the direction of the next hotel. A passing school teacher had given him a short list of nearby hotels.

Shitty’s quiet and tentative voice purred out from his messenger bag. The hotel they had just visited had a strict no pets policy and Eric had had a feeling if he had argued that Shitty wasn’t a pet but a companion, they’d still reject them both. “Eric? Where are we going to sleep tonight?”

Eric felt his heart begin to break as he realized he had no answer for his best friend. They walked along the lush, green park, littered with statues and fountains. They sat at the foot of a trickling tableau of playing children in a fountain to share a sandwich his mother had packed.

However, the pair were quickly chased away when they heard the sound of a police siren rolling up onto the street, the witch still worried that the police officer he had evaded would be on the lookout. “Eric? Where--”

“I’m thinking. I don’t know anyone here and, maybe… Maybe if we find someone kind enough to take us in?” They left the park and took to a side street, walking in the direction of the ocean. The city was built high up, with many streets and houses and shops at an angle on sloping streets. The cobblestone street they walked on was fairly empty, but the smell of baked bread hung deliciously in the air.

Shitty scoffed, “Here? Everyone we’ve talked to except for that teacher has been nothing but fancy richy riches who don’t even want to tell you what time it is, let alone actually help you out.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe there’s someone nice here in town,” Eric offered as he walked past a bakery at the end of the sloping street. It almost reminded Eric of a bridge’s edge, but instead of water below, there were more streets and people.

This city was so big. And the smell of baked bread turned Eric’s stomach. It reminded him too much of home.

“We  _ did _ meet someone nice. His name was Captain Jack, remember?” Shitty’s voice nagged.

“Listen, just because you like to cuddle him, doesn’t mean he’s nice.”

Shitty acquiesced, “Okay, he’s a little stuck up but so are you.”

Eric gasped, “Basil Shitty Bittle, how dare you.”

His cat gave him a shit-eating grin, “It’s true, Bitty. You need to calm down about yourself. It’s starting to get us into trouble.” He paused, his voice quiet, “Maybe we should find someplace else. A different town. Someplace quiet, someplace more like home. People here aren’t going to help out like they do back in the village. It’s loud, not chill at all…”

Eric’s black cat had always been more of a homebody than Eric had been, though only marginally. He was also more of a realist.

“I know, I just wanted to make more of a difference in a big city. And the ocean, Shitty!” They looked out at the setting sun and Eric felt his stomach turn once more as the door to the bakery opened. “What are we going to do?” He thought of his father finding him flying home, a failure, and felt himself worsen. His friends and some of the villagers would probably think it was for the better, a boy witch not becoming a witch at all and staying home where he belonged to get a regular job.

“Ma’am! Hey! Ma’am!” A tall man with messy blond hair and worn hands, wrapped in a kitchen apron waved down below to a woman and her baby buggy, two loaves of bread nestled in with the child. The woman didn’t appear to hear and, instead, walked on.

The man sighed, looking down at what was in his large hand. A pacifier that looked comically small in his hand was without its owner. “Poor baby. Without this the baby’ll wake up and cry all the way home. I’d better go give it to her myself.”

Eric watched as the man returned to the bakery and its loitering customers inside and spoke through the open door, “I’m sorry folks, but could you wait just a minute? I’ll be right back.”

Unable to stand by and not offer help, Eric cleared his throat, “Excuse me sir? Would you like me to deliver it for you?”

The baker blinked down at him, so very tall. “Uh, what? You mean that nice lady and her baby? You could give this to her?”

“Sure, I could deliver it in no time at all.”

The man’s incredulous expression softened, “Really? You’d do that? Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. Let’s go, Shitty.” Eric called to the cat that had been perched on the stone bridge over looking the streets below, the woman disappearing around the corner. Picking up his trusty broom stick, Eric hauled himself up there and assumed the position, stepping off into nothing as the man yelled.

Eric glided through the air on his broomstick and could, pleasantly enough, hear the uproarious laughter of the gentleman behind him as he realized what had happened.

Delivering the pacifier went off without a hitch and soon Eric had a small note the woman had written to return back to the kind man at the bakery. Stepping inside the doors, Eric was awash in a feeling that felt so like home without ever having stepped foot in the bakery before.

Eric could never have quite placed it but he always felt at home when he stood in front of an oven, or when he had his fingers full of dough and other ingredients for cookies or a cake. It gave him a pleasure he could never quite describe. It made any kitchen feel like a home to him, kindling his spirit. He wished he had more time to do it, to hone his little hobby.

“Come in and wait a minute, will you?” The man called out to Eric who stood awkwardly in the storefront of the bakery, holding the door open for a few people and finally waving goodbye to a kind looking old man that he recognized from the clock face that morning. He gave Eric a wink before leaving.

At last, the man flipped the sign at the front of the shop telling those outside it was closed for the evening. “When I saw you fly off, I thought for a second I was dreaming.”

Eric, who had never been one to accept compliments, held out the note awkwardly, “The lady said to deliver this to you.”

The baker read the note and smiled, “’Thanks for returning the pacifier, your new delivery boy is really quite special.’” Eric blushed. Something flashed in the man’s eyes as he took in the younger gentleman before him. “Let me get you some hot chocolate for your trouble.”

“Oh no, that’s really—”

“Please.”

Eric had also never been one to go against a ‘please’ and nodded.

* * *

The baker, whose name was Adam, guided him through the back door of the bakery, past an even taller man, with dark skin in contrast and dark hair underneath his baking cap. He looked surprised but quiet as the cat and witch entered his home.

Eric felt a warmth spread across him when he was quickly introduced to Justin, Adam’s husband. He felt safer and more understood in this home than he had in any part of the city. The bakery was downstairs on the ground floor while their home was just up a short flight of stairs, looking out over the street slowly being lit with electric light.

As he had promised, Adam made two hot chocolates and poured out cream in a bowl for Shitty, who dug into the treat. He’d lay like an overturned bug, too comfy and fattened to roll back over. “So, tell me if I’m right. I’m guessing that you’re a witch in training. I moved here with my husband when we were apprenticing as bakers. I love it here, but people don’t seem to take to the exciting too well in this town. Any little thing they just get fluffed up like chickens and cluck all day.”

“That’s true,” Eric chuckled, “people don’t seem to like witches here.”

“Well, not  _ all  _ people, of course. Take me for instance and my husband. We still believe in a bit of magic everyday goes a long way. So, tell me, whereabouts are you two staying?”

Eric’s face must have given away everything because Adam immediately set down his hot mug as the witch forlornly took a sip. “Why didn’t you tell me you have no place to stay? We have a spare room over in the out building. We call it our attic. It might need some dusting, but you can use that.”

Both Shitty and Eric looked up as Adam and Justin held one another’s hands as their day came to an end before the fire. “You’d really let me stay with you?” He asked, his voice cautious and hopeful.

“Of course. It’s hard to be alone in this world without someone to help you along your way. My mother told me all about witches. You’re probably just starting out on your training. Gonna need a lot of soul searching to try out your talents,” Adam smiled before adjusting his steamed glasses, his husband looking on affectionately.

Justin kissed the back of Adam’s hand and Eric, for some reason, immediately thought of Jack Zimmermann before chasing the thought away irritably from his mind. This was for new beginnings and it didn’t do well to dwell on all that nonsense.

* * *

The room was dusty. Much dustier than Eric had anticipated. After he tried to see if his skill was cleaning, like Adam had teased, Eric resigned himself to some light manual cleaning before crawling into the small bed next to the window of the sea. While the city was organized chaos, it was almost worth it for this view alone. The pair of them had walked all day around the city and Eric still felt like he hadn’t seen even half of it yet.

“If you see a white cat, don’t panic, it’s me,” Shitty deadpanned as he looked back at a trail of cat footprints he left in the dust and down at his white paws. “Let’s get some sleep, Bitty.”

Lying awake in his bed, Eric stared out the window to the view of the sea, his radio crackling in his ear. Eric leaned up and pushed open the folding window, breathing in the ocean. The moon cast her reflection over the waves and Eric reminded himself to check if he could master the ocean’s tide, if that was a skill. His skill could be as useless as wrapping Christmas presents but he would still discover it in the span of a year here, in this city.

“Shitty, I’ve decided to stay here.”

The black cat purred, on his back as he had predicted after having that cream. His tail lazily twitched back and forth. 

“Maybe I can stay and find other nice people like Justin and Adam, people that make me feel like I can do something great and can accept me for who I am. Every part of who I am,” Eric murmured in the darkness.

“You met Jack,” the sleepy cat yawned.

“He does  _ not  _ count.”

But his dreams certainly did seem to count him as they flew across the stars and touched the night sky, watching it ripple like an endless sea. When the sun finally rose, Eric couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.


	6. Shopping

Eric was unflinchingly a morning person. Well, when it was on his terms.

It was odd waking up somewhere that wasn’t home or a barn with a stranger, but he was sure that by the end of the day he could see if he could get out of Justin and Adam’s hair. Such a happy couple didn’t need someone extra lounging around all the time. Besides, he needed to focus on his skill. A year wouldn’t be much time at all.

Brushing out his hair, Eric looked out his window to the ocean, the breeze cool on an otherwise warm day. He could see into the next-door neighbor’s yard, a flowering garden next to a metal chair and table. Eric knew his mother would have loved to sit there, looking over the ocean and collecting bulbs.

If he was successful, then they could come and visit him. He didn’t want to think about the alternative.

Eric’s bedroom was above where Justin and Adam parked their delivery truck that had unceremoniously died years before. Wooden stairs went up to what Adam called the attic and Eric thundered down them, excited to begin his first new day in the big city.

“Why good morning,” Adam called out, working to get fresh bread out to the storefront as Adam battled with the ovens. “It’s good to see you, why do you look so excited today?”

“I think I know how I can earn my keep around here,” Eric immediately moved forward and helped with a large tray of bread, following Adam up the short stairs to the shop. “I think I’m going to set up a delivery service.”

“Really? That sounds so interesting. Tell you what, since you’re just getting started, maybe you could help us with starting deliveries again. It’ll be easy since you’d have the same people every day and a couple of special orders, get your feet wet,” Adam advised as he set everything out and flipped the sign, letting people who had been milling around in.

When the first rush of people came in, Eric helped with ease at the register and stocking the shop, he forgot that he had a list of things to do that day. Namely, cleaning the attic. Adam put his hands on his hips and sighed. As soon as he did that, Justin seemed to appear from nowhere with a glass of lemon ice water, kissing his forehead. “Eric,” Adam said, turning to the witch. “Justin and I are starting to get ready for a baby.”

Eric gasped, “A bun in the oven!”

“Yes, definitely. But not our ovens, obviously. This means I have a lot to prepare for and we’d like business to get stronger. With deliveries, we think you could help us do that. I’ll give you the room and breakfast every morning if you help out in the store. You’ll be paid in delivery fees, too. It won’t be much,” Adam warned, looking over to his husband who rubbed his back. 

The witch shook his head quickly, “It’s not about the money! I’m trying to find my own skill as a witch, so I’ll be doing a lot of self-study, beyond materials to practice every now and then and food, I don’t need much.”

As he said this, he truly wanted to help out the bakery, but a small part of him wished he’d have more money to sit at those cafes in the sun like he had envisioned. And instead of dark purple robes and a bright bowtie, he’d have light blue and white clothes, perfect for sunbathing or sitting in the garden.

But for now, some hard work.

* * *

Eric stood up, his knees wet from all his hard work scrubbing the floors and airing out the attic. His bed was still up against the window looking out to the ocean, but he could stand to add more color, something that seemed more like home. He doubted with the delivery fees that he could make much more money, but he knew that having a free home was nothing to take for granted.

Shitty curled up on the window sill and looked out to the ocean, “See? I like it right here, looking out to the ocean. But everything else? The loud noise, the people, not my scene.”

His witch scooped him up and they sat looking out to the ocean together. “I’ll get you a nice cushion so you can sit and look out the window every day. You won’t have to worry about everyone in here.”

Shitty turned his head and bumped his face against Eric’s forehead, “I’ll never stop worrying about you. That’s my job, I’m your black cat.”

“You’re my keeper.”

“No, I’m your realist. Travel size for your convenience.” He teased.

Scooping up Shitty, Eric grabbed his messenger bag. “We are going to the store, we’ve got to get something to eat and something to spruce this place up.” He had a little bit of money from home. But not much. He hoped it would be enough to at least get him some things to create his new home.

* * *

In the end, Eric  _ did _ have enough money, though not much at all left. He had just enough for some basics. Walking along the sidewalk, Eric passed by plenty of people, handsome young men laughing in their fashionable shorts and suspenders, their caps nestled atop perfect curls.

Meanwhile, he was carrying two large armfuls of groceries looking a mess.

Standing in the shop, he had been shocked by how much everything had cost. City living really was more expensive. Back home when they went to the family shop, he would be greeted warmly at the door and the McGregor’s son would help carry the groceries home or to his father’s auto, practicing that country gentility.

In the city, Eric was ignored when he walked in, not helped, and was expected to carry and pack all of his belongings in paper bags he was teetering in his arms. The woman at the register said nothing to him and looked affronted when he tried to inquire about her day.

Things were certainly different than home.

“Mr. Witch!” Came a cry and Eric felt his heart sink to his stomach as he realized just who that was. Shitty halted in his walk as he heard the voice behind them, but Eric walked faster.

“Hey, little guy,” the pilot greeted Shitty, to which he meowed happily in return.

Eric turned to look over his shoulder and gasped when his weight shifted so suddenly, taking a few cautious steps as he tried to regain control of his shopping bags. One of them was suddenly taken from his arms and he gasped.

The face of the pilot, Captain Jack Zimmermann, replaced one of his bags as he helped steady the witch on his feet. “Are you alright?” He asked the man gently.

“I’m quite alright,” Eric turned up his nose. “Flying around in that vain plane not pay enough? I see you’re not above stealing groceries.”

“I was going to help you.”

A curl from the man’s cap dipped along his forehead, his icy blue eyes fixing on the witch. It was almost as though he had a power all his own, something that Eric hadn’t yet discovered in a book on witchery or in the field. If there was a name for the feeling that seized Eric’s heart on that warm spring day, Eric so very much wanted to know what it was. For if he did, he would try his hardest to bottle it and sell it to those who had never before experienced this feeling of falling, yet with both feet planted on the sidewalk.

“Oh.” Was all Eric could manage. Shitty did figure eights between their legs as they stood there, both seeing so much more than just the pilot or witch who stood before them.

“Oi, keep moving,” a gruff man brushed against Eric’s side and the witch automatically stepped forward, out of his way. Yet as he did, he found himself all the more closer to the man who he was beginning to write a history with.

Remembering that they both were carrying groceries, Eric turned and continued to walk to the bakery, his cheeks as rosy as his mother’s flowers in her greenhouse.

Whenever they walked past a group of people, one of them always seemed to recognize the pilot, waving and calling his name. Eric smiled, finally gaining that anonymity he had longed for.

Before long, the silence was broken and Jack remarked, “What’s in this bag? It feels like it weighs a ton.”

What lay in the grocery bag was something that Eric had long tried to keep a secret.

Something that he had always been afraid of.

The man had stood in the shop when he heard the sound of the bells that hung from the trees at the Bittle farmhouse. The wind would ring them, no matter the weather, always when his mother performed magic in the greenhouse. If was helping a client or if it was adding something to soothe the stomach in a chicken soup, those bells rang. He would get his own one day, and they would sing for them as they did his mother.

He followed the soft tinkling of the bells in the shop, guiding his cart even as Shitty tried to talk to him. Beside the frying pans, Eric saw a stack of baking pans, circular and handmade. Even wrapped in parchment paper, the bells did not cease.

Eric reached out with shaking finger tips, his eyes wide as he tried to control his breathing as the white and blue ceramic pans called to him.

He grabbed a frying pan instead, hurrying from the aisle as quickly as he could and towards the register. Inside Jack’s grocery bag was his fear. His fear as to what his skill truly was.

“Just a frying pan for home.”

“And just where is home?”

Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to lead Jack astray when he had his groceries, he finally revealed it. “The bakery near the ocean, Birkholtz Bakery. Adam and Justin are the kindest people I’ve met yet here in the city.” As he said this, they turned the corner to get to that bakery.

“Hey! You met me,” Jack beamed, winking down at the blond baker.

“Excuse me but I met you in the air. Miles from here.”

Jack’s voice was soft and warm, like the breeze that followed him in alleys and small cobblestone roads on days like this, “What a place to meet… in the sky.”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments until Jack showed Eric to the door. “So, Birkholtz Bakery. Do you bake?”

“No!”

Jack blinked, “That was fast, haha. So what do you do to earn your keep?”

Adam’s husband, Justin, appeared from the front door of the bakery, quiet tinkling of the bakery’s bell alerting the pair to his presence. He took both bags of groceries with a smile before throwing a wink to Eric and closing the door.

Eric’s hands went immediately behind his back as he rocked forwards and backwards on his heels, certain that his face was pink.

“I deliver bread, anything they need delivered, really. The only skill I have right now is flying and—”

Before he could fully explain something that was dear to him, an automobile pulled up beside the sidewalk, honking its horn. Beautiful men and women draped across one another leaned out of the topless car, calling out to Jack. “Get in, Captain! Let me sit on your lap in the sky, huh? C’mon, one quick spin? You owe me from last time!”

Eric closed his jaw as Jack turned around, distracted by the people. They wore rich clothing, fit to them, no dark colored robes or black cats on the seats. They were like night and day and Jack was immediately distracted by the brightness of the sun.

Without another word, Eric slipped into the bakery, careful not to disturb Jack with the sound of bells.


	7. Delivery

Since Justin and Adam had taken time to focus on making money at the store front and baby proofing their home for their new arrival, many of their deliveries had been put on hold. Initially, Eric hadn’t thought that making deliveries for Birkholtz Bakery would be that difficult.

And then he woke up the next morning before the sun rose in the sky.

Turns out people needed bread at breakfast.

Dragging his feet into the bakery, Eric blearily yawned, leaning on his broomstick for support. “G’morning.” Shitty lay draped over his messenger bag, still half asleep. He’d spent some of the night draped over the window sill, looking out to the ocean and had probably stayed awake almost as much as Eric had. But only one of them was thinking about a certain pilot.

“Took you long enough,” Adam teased politely. “It may take you a few trips, so you should try to get up even earlier.”

Eric blinked, “Even  _ earlier _ ?”

Adam laughed, “Of course, wouldn’t you want some bread at breakfast?”

The witch nodded, straightening his dark purple robes. As soon as he got some money, he would buy clothing that didn’t proclaim to the world that he was a witch in training. A witch in training who was pointedly ignoring the sound of his future.

Loaded up with bags over each shoulder, filled with fresh bread, Eric took off into the skies, following the map that Adam had painstakingly crafted last night. Sure enough, as he landed in the dark, empty streets before the sun rose, he would knock on the kitchen door or the back entrance and be greeted with all manner of people who shoved money in his purse, signed their name, and slammed the door.

They seemed even more tired than Eric was. The morning air was cold, chilly so close to the sea, but it was brisk and woke the witch in a way that he knew he wouldn’t sleep again when he got back to the bakery. It was quiet as he drifted along the air. Not even the gulls screeched in the morning.

Finally, he landed in front of a large, ornate mansion on the outskirts of the city. This was the last delivery before he’d go and have some breakfast of his own. Justin had packed a loaf of crusty cinnamon bread to have after his first day of deliveries and Eric’s mouth watered. The mansion appeared to be a place for elderly people to retire, for people who could no longer live on their own in the big city. It reminded Eric a lot of himself and his current situation with Justin and Adam, who helped him on his feet and gave him a place to stay. Lord knew he couldn’t manage on his own in the big city.

Approaching the kitchen door, Eric knocked. As soon as he finished, the door opened slowly to reveal two women in rich dresses, both wide awake and happy to see their delivery boy. Which was a pleasant change from the rest of the morning. “Oh, look who’s here!” One of the women called out to the kitchen. “It’s the witch like the bakery said.”

A few more elderly people gathered around, their faces worn with happy memories. Shitty ducked behind Eric’s back, peeking his head around to look at them. “He even has a black cat and such dark robes!”

Feeling too much like an animal on display at a zoo, Eric reached for their orders of bread.

“Forgive us, we’re so unused to visitors. And such unique ones, too!” The woman in charge confided to Eric. Unused to visitors? Eric’s heart began to sink, feeling sorry for them gathered around.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He handed over the bread but a little old woman in a wheelchair reached out and slowly laid a hand on his arm, shaking a little with the effort.

“Maurice? Maurice, is that you?”

The woman in the soft green dress, the caretaker for these people, moved forward and lightly touched the elderly woman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, that’s not Maurice. This is Eric, he delivers bread.”

For a moment, Eric wished that he was Maurice because a twinkle of light left her eyes as she was told this. But she didn’t relinquish her gentle hold.

“You know, my grandmother used to tell me stories about witches. They’re a sign of good luck in troubling times. She taught me to always be kind to everyone I met, because,” she took a great wheezing breath, “because they might be a witch and share some magic or their luck. I never thought I’d live to see the day when I’d meet one.” She smiled, squeezing his arm, finally letting go.

Eric was touched. Perhaps his anonymity, his need to wear different clothes… maybe he didn’t have to hide who he was for these kind folk. After being paid, he reached into his bag to retrieve his last loaf, the cinnamon bread he had been looking forward to after such an early morning.

He knelt and handed it over to the wheelchair-bound woman, “Your grandmother was right. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He promised.

The light returned to the woman’s eyes, twinkling as he thanked them all and slowly ascended to the skies, giving them a show.

Adam was unsurprised when Eric came back without the loaf of bread, but didn’t say much of anything, as usual. The smile he gave, the knowing that lit up his eyes was unmistakable, though. He knew exactly what had happened.

“I’ll get you some breakfast and pay your fees,” Justin promised, moving to go and get their money they had stored away.

Eric surprised himself as he spoke up, “Uh, Justin? Um, breakfast sounds great but… But I’d like to let my fees accrue for now.”

Justin’s gaze softened and he nodded, going to fry up breakfast for the newest addition to the Birkholtz Bakery.

Catching his reflection in a shining copper baking tin across the bakery, Eric smiled to himself.

Maybe he could stand to wear the robes just a little bit longer.


	8. Birthday

After a month of morning deliveries, Eric knew his route by heart. He began to know the city by the sky, the street names and homes and businesses of those who wanted the bakery’s fresh creations every morning. True to Adam’s word, he delivered all manner of things for the bakery. Sometimes a customer forgot their purse, sometimes they had midday orders, but his morning deliveries were always his favorite. They were his favorite simply because of the elderly manor he visited every morning. Justin didn’t stop putting an extra loaf of cinnamon or raisin in his bag for his breakfast in the morning, but Eric had taken his breakfasts somewhere else.

The retirement estate was called Oceanburrow Manor.

There, he broke his fast with the elderly residents, headed by the headmistress Moira and her assistants. Often, Eric just sat and listened to what everyone had to say, what the city was like, and the gossip that the elderly participated in. Clara, the kind woman in the wheelchair, still believed it was Maurice every time she saw him and Eric couldn’t help but feel so sad every time. She was the first to get a buttered slice of raisin or banana bread, though and she was always so happy when he offered a loaf to her.

Baked goods could make someone’s day so bright and Eric knew he wouldn’t forget that.

He had baked once or twice with his mama and he wondered how Clara and Moira and their friends might like a nice pie. But with one thought to his skill, Eric paused, sure that Birkholtz Bakery bread was good enough for them.

Whenever Eric wasn’t in the shop helping or out on deliveries, he took his dinner or his lunch and went down to the grassy hill that overlooked the ocean. He and Shitty would share bites of sandwiches and watch the waves roll in. Shitty hadn’t taken particularly well to city life and Eric didn’t blame him. Now that he was at the ocean, all Eric wanted to do was stop and appreciate its wonder.

“Bro, why don’t you go back for that pie dish?” Shitty asked, belly up in the warm sun. His voice was slow and not aggressive, but the question hung there, threatened to be blown away by a warm breeze.

Eric sighed, “You know why.” He pulled up his legs on his little quilt and rested his chin on his knees as he looked out. His dark robes lay to the side, but his red bowtie was still fixed in place on his dark purple dress shirt.

Shitty didn’t say anything, quiet. Eric hoped that he didn’t disappoint him too much.

“Besides, I need to think about it first. I need to think about it, it’ll still be there when I go back.”

“It’s a store, what if someone buys it?”

The witch’s voice grew annoyed, “I’m sure it’s not _ that _ specific pie tin, Shitty. It’s symbolic, you wouldn’t understand.”

Shitty didn’t respond which made Eric feel all the more cruel.

Just before he leaned over to apologize, he heard the snarl of engines in the air. Two biplanes tore through the air, as though racing one another. A dark plane followed closely behind a bright red plane and Eric’s breath caught in his throat. He followed the plane with his eyes and found himself standing, his hand over his heart as the plane sped up its chase, growing impossibly close. Just before they collided, Eric shouted, covering his mouth as Jack pulled up suddenly and went upside down, dodging the plane behind him.

Eric fell to his knees, breathing shallowly as he watched the planes steady off and twist and twirl.

Shitty cheered, “He did a pretty good job!” He congratulated the pilot in the sky. “I bet he’s worked really hard!” Sitting back on the blanket, Eric tried to calm his heart.

“He’s an idiot, look at him, doing all those stupid tricks. Showboating, that’s what that is.”

Shitty didn’t respond.

* * *

Wandering into the bakery after lunch, Eric cried out again and clutched his heart when he was faced with Justin and Adam yelling, “Surprise!” and holding a birthday cake in front of them.

Shitty laughed, “You’re just getting spooked everywhere today!”

Eric smiled graciously and embraced both Adam and Justin. “This is so unnecessary, thank you.” After thanking the pair of them, he finally turned his attention back to the cake.

Oh.

Although Eric had never asked, he figured that there was a reason why Adam and Justin hadn’t gone into the patisserie business. At first, he had believed that the men only wanted to specialize in breads but with one glance at the cake it was obvious.

“You can definitely tell it’s made with love,” Adam smiled, scratching behind his head, awkward.

“Oh no, don’t say that. It looks delicious.”

Which was true. The melted frosting on the lopsided cake did look appetizing. Very rugged and hearty. “I’m sure it tastes wonderful.” Eric promised.

“You’ll have to show us how to make a proper cake, tell me where did I go wrong?” Adam asked. They had both been bakers steadfastly by trade. Unfortunately, their apprenticeship was separated by traditionalists keeping the art of baking separate between the sexes. The men slaved in front of hot ovens and created delicious breads while the women worked with finer doughs and more delicate decorating.

As Eric sat down to eat the cake, the now 22 year old man smiled patiently and nodded along to their story, although each bite was certainly… a unique experience.

“Do you know how to bake cakes?”

Eric nodded, polite, “I can bake cakes, pies, strudel, you name it, I love it.”

“Then teach me.”

Putting down his fork, Eric picked up his gaze to look into Adam’s blue eyes, they were gentle and inviting and they meant nothing but earnestness. “You want to sell cakes and pies?”

“Oh no, not at first. Maybe if I can get good at it but with the baby coming and all, I don’t want to bite off more than I can chew by adding a new menu,” Adam shrugged, “besides I’d probably be a perfectionist and want everything to taste amazing. I like to think our bread is pretty good,” he chuckled when Eric interrupted with a passionate _ “It is!” _, “but I wouldn’t want to add subpar pies and cakes just so we could make a little extra money.”

As much as Eric wanted to disagree, he felt himself pausing, hesitating as his years of country manners caught up to him. He finally nodded, “Of course I can teach you. Y’all will have to tell me when your birthdays are so I can bake you both cakes or pies or whatever you’d like.”

“How about we start sooner?” Adam asked. “How about tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d get a chance to bake again.

Eric couldn’t wait.

* * *

The next morning, Eric was surprised to see a new stop added to his deliveries but made sure that he had enough time to get there before his usual breakfast at Oceanburrow. He greeted the usual customers. Most had taken a liking to his morning visits, but some still slammed the door as soon as they were done with him.

His last stop was farther than he had ever flown before and Eric realized in the inky purple morning sky, that this was the base that Jack had described earlier.

The home of the Falconers.

As Eric made his way around the city, it was clear that the Falconers were the mascots of the harbor town. Everyone applauded their aerial stunts and their bravery. It was clear that they had ascended to godlike status in a city even as big as this. However, not all of it was pretty. The Falconers were known to be a little rough, rowdy, and loud.

And if Eric had learned anything about the sophisticated place he now called his second home, he knew that wouldn’t ‘fly’ at all. The base was in the middle of a large field that had concrete poured in long strips fore and aft. There was a large hangar that housed what looked to be dozens of biplanes, but only one painted that signature red.

Off farther, there was a small cobblestone pathway that led to a manor, similar to Oceanburrow but not as classic in its design or architecture. This wasn’t a place for the old to be calm, this was a place for the young to be stupid. Following the path, he moved past to the backyard where there was a substantial garden for victory vegetables and flowers. He hadn’t seen a victory garden since he was a young, young boy since the war had ended. But it still bloomed today.

Raising his hand to knock at the back entrance, where Eric believed the housekeeper would be, he knocked thrice, waiting patiently with his coin purse and his small book of signatures.

When the door opened, he smiled, “Good morning, I’m—”

“Oh I know exactly who you are, Mr. Witch.”

Eric’s businesslike kindness dropped off immediately, “Funny you say that when you still can’t remember my name.” He checked his bags and pulled out all the loaves that he needed before he finally caught a glimpse of the man in front of him.

Captain Jack Zimmermann was shirtless. The pilot stood there, as muscled and fit as a soldier, a hand resting at the top of the door frame, as though he were minutely flexing for the young man before him. Pajama pants slung low around his hips, revealing body hair that followed up to his navel. Well… _ down _ from his navel was probably a better descriptor. His hair was tousled, no doubt the result of well-rested night and his chest bore a smattering of dark hair across his chest. His blue eyes were hooded in the early morning, but their color was no less intense in the dark.

And there Eric stood holding four loaves of bread.

“Well, if it isn’t Eric.”

The sound of his name, as spellbinding as it sounded, was not enough to keep Eric in his trance. He shoved the bread towards the man. “And you’re Jack. The one I saw doing those stupid tricks in the air on my birthday.”

“I missed your birthday?” Jack actually sounded devastated, his face falling. “I’ve been trying to get our bread switched over to a new bakery for weeks, I hadn’t been seeing you as regularly. I missed your birthday?” He repeated, looking crestfallen as he took the bread and shifted inside to place it on an unseen table.

“It was yesterday, it’s not like you knew. And I’ve got more deliveries than usual, so…”

“What a coincidence, yesterday was _ my _ birthday.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, give or take 90 days.”

Eric sighed, “Sir, can you sign this? I’m going to be late.”

Jack chuckled as he took the pen and scribbled an ostentatious signature, “Why, got a date?”

“As a matter of fact, I keep the same date every morning for breakfast.”

“I can’t get you something to eat for breakfast or steal some of your time? I just got bread delivered,” Jack jerked a thumb back to the kitchen.

The witch turned up his small nose, “As fun as it would be watching you pop bacon grease all over your naked self, I’m sure you’re as much a baker as I am a pilot.” He turned to walk away when a large hand caught his. It was rough, rougher than his own which had known pricks from flowers and wooden broomstick handles. Jack’s knew the bite of metal.

Jack paused and looked down at their hands, “You _ are _ a pilot, Eric. Like me but, but so different. I mean, you and me, we’ve got to know the sky better than anyone, anything else, right?”

“You’re presumptuous,” Eric said, his voice weak.

“I’m usually right.”

“Usually, but not all the time.”

Eric dropped their hands and he walked off, Shitty balancing delicately on the messenger bag.

“Aw, come on, I didn’t even get a chance to get pet, Bitty!”

* * *

Teaching Adam how to bake had been like coming home. Though it was no home that had a front stoop or a door knob, nor a place to knock or leave a gift. Quite the contrary, it was a home he could visit no matter the distance to his little village. Tart cherry, syrupy strawberry, and popping blueberries all were barely contained in their pie tins. 

Luckily, Eric hadn’t touched a single pan or whisk, lest he invite the fear of his skill or the bells that had echoed in the shop all those days ago. He still heard the tinkling when he walked down that aisle, insistent to begin his future. “I can’t thank you enough, Eric. It smells so good, I’d be surprised if we didn’t have people lining down the block to try a slice.” 

Eric laughed awkwardly, “You did all the hard work, Adam.” 

“Yes, but not without you explaining everything to me and gasping.” 

“I can’t help it, you were going to put the stems in the pie!” Eric chuckled. 

“And when I tried to put the pies in the oven right away.” 

“A little trial and error, and you’d have figured it out.” 

They set out the pies towards noon and, sure enough, the blueberry and strawberry pie disappeared slice by slice. With a blink of the eyes, the cherry pie was spirited away by someone who practically begged for five more slices after his first. 

Even though he hadn’t put on an apron, it still warmed Eric’s heart to see so many people in love with his mama’s recipe. This had nothing to do with him or his skill. This was just baking. 

And it’d have to stop at that. For his and his father’s sake.

* * *

When Eric came home later that night from strolling in the park and window shopping, he was surprised to see a bouquet of roses on the stoop of the bakery. The card bore only a date, a time around sunset, and a man’s initials.

A stupid man’s initials who didn’t seem to know what color roses to give someone else. Red roses meant passion, romance, love. 

But they were also the loud color of his biplane, which they both knew was his only true love.**  
**


	9. Sunset

“Shitty, stop moping about not being a catfish,” Eric called out, pressing a kiss to the top of the cat’s head. “We’re gonna be late.”

“I’m not going to go on your date, Eric.”

Fluffing up his hair and double checking his reflection in the mirror, Eric turned aghast, “It is  _ not _ a date. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

Shitty put his little paws over his ears, “I don’t want to hear about what pieces you’re going to give him.”

Eric frowned and walked over, sitting next to the window sill where Shitty had been lounging. “Hey,” he gently ran his fingers over his ears and pressed another, slower kiss to the top of his head. “Hey… are you okay?” He asked gently. “You’ve gotten a lot quieter lately.” Worry surged through Eric as he said this.

Shitty cuddled into his witch and said nothing for a moment before he finally murmured, “I think I’m just homesick. It’s so loud here and so many people. It’s all just exhausting, bro. I’m sorry…”

Eric pulled Shitty into his arms and cradled him, petting his black cat he had grown up with all his life. “Shitty I don’t want to stay if it means you’re not happy.”

“Hey, no,” Shitty opened his eyes and looked into Eric’s eyes. “If I couldn’t do this, I would tell you. We’re here for you and your skill. Not me, okay?”

“But I still love you and want to make sure you’re happy.”

“I love you, too.”

Until the last possible minute, Eric waited, holding and rocking his black cat. “Do you want to come with me and cuddle Jack?”

“There’s life in me yet.” Shitty stretched and bumped his head affectionately against Eric’s forehead and hopped dutifully on his messenger bag. “Let’s get you kissed!”

“Shitty!”

“Consensually!”

* * *

Eric flew until he spotted a picnic blanket and the familiar pilot puttering around it. Thankfully, the plane wasn’t in sight. A few yards away, Eric descended, the ocean breeze cool on his face. They were near the ocean, but not on the beach near the base. It was beautiful to overlook the ocean and the beauty it had to offer. He knew that Shitty would love it.

True enough, as soon as they touched down, Shitty leapt from the bag and hurried over to Jack, interweaving between his legs and purring. “You desperate cat,” Eric said affectionately, “he won’t stop talking about you. Apparently, you’re prime cuddling material.”

Eric knew he shouldn’t have said that, he didn’t want to inflate the man’s ego all the more, but Jack surprised him as the pilot knelt to pick him up, hiding him in his jacket and zipping it up. “There you go, bud.” Today, the pilot still wore his pilot jacket but instead of his uniform, he wore dark blue trousers, dark suspenders, and a white shirt. As the sun shone, it seeped into the material, making it look like the man was glowing. That did not help matters at all.

Jack awkwardly gestured to the picnic layout. “Happy birthday.”

Across the red and white checkered picnic blanket was a large wicker basket and pillows. A bottle of wine stuck out of the basket and two rotund glasses were nestled in the grass beside the blanket.

Eric was a little speechless to say the least. It was obvious that this man hadn’t actually remembered or even knew his birthday and this was all an elaborate scheme to get into his robes, but this was undeniably sweet. “I thought the roses were my present.”

“Oh no, that was the  _ card _ , this is the present that it comes with.”

“Your presence is my present?”

Jack was patient, “A picnic dinner at sunset is my present. You sit some days on the grassy hills over near where we practice. I thought that I could help clear the air.”

“You and the air again.” Eric sat on the picnic blanket, still cautious. He was quite aware that he was more than a little callous, but he guarded his heart carefully. Especially when it came to a man who clearly just wanted to brag that he had slept with a witch.

Shitty popped out of the jacket and hopped into Jack’s lap, cuddling up.

“How is the delivery business going?” Jack asked.

Eric found himself opening up as Jack opened the picnic basket, doing almost none of the talking except to ask a clarifying question. He told him about Oceanburrow, about his deliveries and what it was like to live with Justin and Adam. But he didn’t talk about his suspicions about his skill and his fear that was tied to it.

But he found himself laughing as he sipped wine, tried cheeses and crackers and meats. It was all heavenly. Shitty also got his full share and took turns snoozing in their laps as he listened to the ocean. “Oh my lands, I am so sorry, I’ve been talking all about me, and I haven’t once asked about you. How cruel of me!”

Jack laughed, “It’s not cruel at all. You seem to know everything about me.”

“Thinking I do is not the same as actually knowing about you,” Eric sighed. Their conversation had flowed easily since it was all one sided, he wanted to let Jack in.

“So. The Falconers.”

“The Falconers,” Jack’s smile was fond. “The Falconers are a unit in the air brigade that specialize in dog fighting.”

Eric blinked, “What?”

“We’re fighter pilots. Remember? I told you in the barn? Dog fighting is when fighter pilots use extreme moves in combat. As Captain, I’m helping prepare my unit for war.”

“War? But the war is over, it’s been over since we were kids. It  _ is _ over?”

Jack looked uncertain and that was all the confirmation Eric needed. “My father served and was a fighter pilot. He was the best there ever was. His plane was red.” He looked out over the horizon, quiet as the sun grew closer to disappearing into the sea.

Oh. Oh no.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?”

Eric reached out and took Jack’s hand, “For your loss.”

Jack smiled and chuckled, “He didn’t die, it was worse. He retired. Which was basically death for Bad Bob. He had to hang up his jacket and retire the plane after the war. He was the best there ever was and I’m going to be just like him. I was born during the worst parts of the war, when he was behind enemy lines. He always told me that when it was the worst, he thought of me as a baby and knew I was someone, something worth fighting for. Thinking of my mother and I got him back home.”

Eric kept holding his hand, even when he learned of his father’s good health in retirement. Which, unfortunately, was dull. “So, if your dad is Bad Bob, who are you? Attack Jack?”

“Oh no, nothing so original. I’m called The Spirit.”

“Let me guess, because you sneak up so fast on unsuspecting witches in the sky? And then you relentlessly haunt them afterwards?”

That did it. Jack tipped his head back and laughed, his smile big as he tried to catch his breath. “How’d you guess?” Eric joined in, their fingers folding together on the picnic blanket as they sat in silence, watching the sun go down.

“Are you going to leave for duty?”

“I’m technically on duty now. I left home to be here. But if I’m taken to problem areas, I don’t know. Everything’s a little tense so soon after the war,” Jack sighed. “It’s complicated. So much of this is complicated. The Falconers aren’t even funded properly, we have to beg off donations and popularity contests, of selling stories to magazines.”

Eric nodded along, unsure. “I’m glad I got to meet you when I did, Jack. I didn’t appreciate  _ how _ I met you, but I’m happy that I did.” He shivered when the ocean breeze brought the first chill of night and within moments, Jack’s pilot jacket was heavy around his shoulders.

“I thought you didn’t get cold, Mr. Witch.”

He chuckled and squeezed his hand. “Shows what you know, Pilot Boy. We’ve got a word from where I’m from about people like you.”

“Oh?”

“Cowboys.” The wind kissed the pair of them again, ruffling their hair as they sat there, looking nowhere but one another’s eyes.

“Last I checked there weren’t any cows in the air—”

Eric chuckled, “No but you and me have a history with cows, that’s for sure.” He secretly loved it when they both laughed again.

* * *

Despite so obviously being a rogue, as his mother liked to call them, and a cowboy, as his father liked to say, Jack was a perfect gentleman as they finished their little meal. They drank their fill of wine to the point where Eric was a little worried about flying home. He giggled and smiled a lot more than he could remember doing with Jack but he also had been closed minded to the man before. Maybe after tonight, maybe he was ready to open up.

Eric insisted on helping pack up his birthday picnic as the sun finally disappeared into the sea, submerged and hidden until the morning. Together, they began the walk back to the bakery. Though they had since dropped their hands, during the walk in the quiet night of the city, Eric found his hand being gently held by the rough grasp of a pilot.

As they walked up the grassy hill, along the cobblestone streets of the city, Eric laughed with Jack, leaning on his side as they talked about flying in only a way two kindred spirits could.

“When I first learned to fly, I was probably about eight or nine, my dad took me onto his lap and I jerked on the controls and we did a loop,” Jack paused as Eric burst out laughing, “it’s true!”

Eric could just see the surprised look of Bad Bob Zimmermann as his son yanked on the controls and spun them around. It was a lot like his father’s face when he learned that Eric could fly. “The same thing happened to me! I learned how to fly and when I flew back home hanging upside down, my dad about had a heart attack.” He laughed, covering his mouth to keep the sound of joy inside.

“I suppose we both love the sky,” Jack agreed. They slowly approached the bakery, its lights dim and the closed sign facing the empty street. The moon was full, its light reflecting on the large display windows. This was his home, if only for a year. And already, two of those months were gone. Eric was 22 and only had 10 more months before his home called for him, and he would need to know his skill and have it honed to a magical art.

Which would be fine if he could learn to accept it.

“Yes we do,” Eric agreed. He could fudge it, couldn’t he? He could say that his skill was flying and leave it at that? His father was intrigued by flying, by the biplanes and zeppelins that took to the sky. He wouldn’t have to know Eric’s true skill. He could live with that, right?

Right?

Eric sighed and turned to his taller, blue eyed companion. Jack reminded him too much of the sky, of the possibility that the winds carried on their gusts, the feeling of freedom, but also the uncertainty every time his feet left the ground. It was intoxicating.

“Thank you, Jack, for my birthday present, it was very sweet,” he placed a hand on the bakery doorknob, ready to turn and walk inside.

Jack took Eric’s other hand slowly, as though each movement or flex of his fingers was practiced and cautious. “Thank you, when I asked the boys back at the base the most romantic gift I could give,” he laughed awkwardly, their fingers lacing together, “well, I gave them a piece of my mind… But then I thought about a picnic.”

_ Romantic _ ?

“Romantic?” Eric asked, his eyes wide and his mouth open in surprise.

Jack chuckled once and nodded, “Haha, euh, yes? Romantic. I’m very much interested in you, Eric. I’d like to pick you up, perhaps one day you’d wear my ring.”

There were a few moments of silence before Eric gasped and shrieked, thoroughly surprised and offended as only a short country gentleman could be at such language.

“Did you just propose to me?!” Eric jerked his hand away. “Talking about a dalliance and now you’re talking about rings and hefting me here and there?” He was sure his inhuman screech carried through the alleys and even awoke Shitty who popped his head out of the messenger bag to watch the interaction blandly. He was getting too used to these, it appeared.

“Shh! Shh!” Jack tried to calm Eric down.

“Don’t you tell me to shush!”

“It’s an expression we use here,” Jack tried to explain, pulling a ring off of his finger, showing it to Eric as he kept his distance. The sound of an irritated dog had tried to howl with Eric in the distance. “A lot of families have a crest ring, right?”

Eric shook his head blankly, staring down at the signet ring. “Not where I’m from. We’ve got pins from when we go to school… Oh Lord,” he covered his mouth, “were you talking about  _ pinning _ me?”

“Pinning you? Oh, euh, yes, I suppose. But with this ring.”

Eric looked at the taller pilot suspiciously, “And picking me up means what?”

“To visit and ask you to dinner, to museums, on flights,” Jack explained, his expression softening as he saw that Eric was slowly beginning to understand. This witch was a spitfire and Jack appreciated the excitement, even if he did just get yelled at.

Eric’s expression softened, “You meant callin’ on me.”

“With a phone?”

“No, no,” Eric chuckled, “Um, paying me a call. Visiting and sitting on the front porch or going to eat or…” He gestured to the man’s picnic basket. “A picnic.”

Jack’s blush, even in the light from the moon and distant gas lamps, looked adorable, “Yes, sir. That’s it.” With one hand he removed his cap that hid his midnight black hair, the light from the evening reflecting in it, glinting like stars.

“You startled me just then.”

“Well, I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Witch” Somehow, their hands had found one another’s again, their fingers lacing together with a strength that seemed to endure. But even as Eric found himself reaching for this, found himself yearning for this man’s touch, his smile, his company… Doubt manifested within him as swift and as all encompassing as a dark storm cloud.

“Jack… I…”

A warm, calloused hand reached out and cradled his cheek, the thumb sliding across his cheekbone as Eric looked up at Jack with large eyes. Whatever words that either of them had saved for this moment, words that they had saved for an intimate kiss in the starlight, they didn’t seem enough as they both leaned in. 

Eric had never kissed before. No matter how oft he had tried to cajole his mother into putting something to encourage love, to tempt an adolescent sweetheart in a batch of cakes or cookies, he had never before felt the tender homecoming of a kiss. There, on the cobblestoned streets, Eric felt the warm touch of Jack’s lips, gentlemanly in their peck.

Despite Jack’s lips being chapped in the harsh winds, they were unbelievably soft, and felt like coming home. Though it was not a home that he had ever known before. When had he closed his eyes? When had his arms reached up and looped around Jack’s neck? Eric didn’t care. He didn’t care about the red biplane, the call of his skill, or the curious looks he was probably getting from Justin and Adam. 

No man he knew had ever touched him like this, like he was made of starlight, slipping through his fingers. His hold was tight, as though anchoring him to the ground and out of the skies. Jack’s arms wound around his hips, bringing him close to the tall, strong pilot. Kissing Jack was a dance he had never learned, but their lips moved together delicately, as though the pair of them had always known the choreography. 

A jalopy’s headlights flashed over the pair of them, turning the corner at the bakery and continuing thumping down the cobbled lane. The pair of them leaned apart, though Jack’s hold was still warm around him. They turned to look at one another before they chuckled, a warm sound meant for the pair of them. Eric’s giggles subsided when he felt the warm press of Jack’s lips against his forehead, the kiss long and sweet. 

Their foreheads bumped as Eric’s heart raced, feeling like he was floating higher than the clouds, higher than he had ever dared to on broom. “I’d like to call on you, Eric, if I may? A few days from now?” 

“You already call on me every day, fly boy. I deliver your bread in the morning,” Eric chided. 

“I meant taking you out good and proper. Not in a leather jacket but a real one with a flower in the lapel and my shoes shined. With a taxi cab and dinner. Dancing in the moonlight near the ocean. Sipping champagne and you sharing more of your life with me. Having a few laughs and stealing a few kisses,” Jack rushed to say, “stand up, though. And honest.” 

Eric pressed his lips together, lost in Jack’s fantasy, his heart racing. “I’ve never known you to be stand up and honest, Jack Zimmermann. Though I can’t say no. Seven o’clock, then. On Friday?” 

Jack looked down at the witch in exaltation, “Friday.” 

“Don’t you leave a witch waitin’.” 

“I’d never dream of it.” 

Eric hopped up on the tips of his toes to kiss him again, giggling in the kiss when the pilot picked him up proper. What could be more magical than this? 


	10. Pinned

Despite how beautiful that night had been, the next two days were the hardest Eric ever had to endure while working at the Birkholtz Bakery. Word had gotten out about his delivering baked goods and others began to approach him for other things to be delivered by a witch. 

The pencil in his hand snapped as Eric tried in vain to write down the order of the very angry woman on the telephone. “Yes ma’am, I’ll deliver that right away, ma’am.” Eric said hurriedly as he tossed the tiny, worthless pencil stub in the bin. He had meant to get some yesterday after a delivery, but it had slipped his mind. Three people anxiously waited in line to buy their bread for dinner.

It seemed like years ago since Eric had shared those tender kisses with Jack in the moonlight. But, finally, tonight was the night. When they would finally go on a proper date. Just that morning, Eric had insisted to the Captain of the Falconers that they not go anywhere to expensive. Eric was mindful about money and fretted that Jack would try to make everything too big. 

Eric made a mental note to pick up pencils and paper on his delivery as he moved past Adam and Justin trying to serve customers as he loaded his broom. This would be the third impromptu delivery that day and Shitty piped up on the counter, leaping over to his side. “Bitty, your date is in two hours. I think it’s time that we call off work.” 

The witch shook his head, “Justin and Adam need me and I need these deliveries. If Jack and I are going to go out on more dates, I need to pay my way.” 

“Yes but Bits, there’s a storm predicted for today. I could feel it on the last two times we went out. I can feel it in the air, my dude.”

“This is something I need to do,” Eric insisted as he walked out the front door to the bakery. Clouds were beginning to gather in the west, like the cat had predicted, but it didn’t phase the witch. 

The cat’s voice was hard, “ _ Eric _ , have I ever steered you wrong before? I’m your black cat, I’m here to look out for you.” He sat down on the sidewalk, his whiskers twitching. “There’s other things you should be doing. Like baking again. I can hear those bells just as loudly as you can.” 

Lately, the sound of the bells outside his ancestral family home had grown louder. Those same bells that had heralded his departure from home and beginning his quest to find his skill. It was annoying. Eric had other things to do. More important things than baking frivolously. And his Dad… there was no way that his father would accept him back home if he was a witch  _ and  _ did baking magic. How could he ever look him in the eye? 

Eric looked down at his black cat and back to his deliveries. “Maybe I should look out for myself.” He kicked the ground and shot off into the sky, leaving Shitty alone on the sidewalk, watching the storm clouds with worry for his witch. 

* * *

The storm kicked up when he was trying to return from a countryside birthday party. The recipient hated that the bread delivered didn’t “match her theme”, as though she had been affronted that it hadn’t been purple and puce, like her decorations. The door had been slammed in Eric’s face, with the first of the rain beginning to sprinkle down.

The pay had been more for this delivery, but there had been no tip, which Eric had been relying on. With the way that the other people in the party regarded a strange witch in dark robes (and a  _ boy _ witch at that), he wouldn’t have done much better than nothing. His date had to be minutes away and Eric was going to be late! 

He could already hear Shitty’s ‘I told you so’ in his mind, which grew almost as loud as those damned bells that rocked around in his mind every time he passed by the grocery. It wasn’t even just the grocery anymore! When he saw Justin or Adam baking, his fingertips buzzed and his body yearned to put some magic in something others would love. No wonder deliveries were better than staying in that bakery.

The rain poured down in a grey sheet, making the way back nearly impossible. The wind pushed him back and forth, steering him off course back to the city. Only the dim lights in the distance kept him on his path. He could make it back for his date, he could make it back by seven! He just had to! Maybe he’d even have a few moments to fix his wet hair or put on other dark robes.

Blown back into the city, Eric shot through it, avoiding planes leaving and other air traffic. Why they’d be out in the storm, they must have been just as crazy as he was. Boats were pulled into the harbor for sanctuary and people dashed under awnings and businesses to get out of the deluge. 

Landing with a slip in front of the bakery, Eric regained his balance and charged into the bakery. Justin and Adam had been waiting. “I’m sorry, I know I’m late but I’ve still got five minutes I can go and get these dried and can style my hair maybe have a cup of tea or--” 

One look at their faces told him that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

“What is it? Did I miss him? Did he leave without me?” Eric set his broom down, hurrying up to the bakers standing in the shop. Adam lowered his head, as though he couldn’t say it. Shitty hopped up on the counter and rubbed against his arm. Justin was the one who broke the silence. 

“He left, Eric.” 

“He did? Well, what restaurant did he go to? I can meet him there--” His large, calloused hand fell on his shoulder, his dark brown eyes strained and somber. 

“He’s been sent to the lines, Eric. The Falconers have been called to active duty.” 

Eric had gone numb. The air that he had within him rushed out in a panicked and tearful cry. He put a hand over his mouth, the lightbulbs in the bakery flickering, the storm outside coming down even harder, pounding against the windows and the roof as though all the rain had focused on the bakery. 

Adam helped him to a chair, though he couldn’t remember how he had gotten into it. As though he had been thrust back under the unceasing rain, Eric’s eyes clouded over with tears. Jack was gone.

“When?” 

They looked reluctant to share but Eric repeated the word until Justin rubbed at his back, his grip on the kitchen table tight and filled with tension. Jack was called out to duty, how hadn’t he known? 

“He called right after you left for your delivery. He rushed over here as soon as he could and waited as long as he could. They had no idea. Something had been brewing over the border. The Falconers are all gone with him. He had to lead them out.” 

Eric felt like everything was happening miles away from him, everything felt so cold and distant. Even as Shitty climbed into his lap and bumped his head over his chin, Eric still felt as though he was lost. Adrift in a way that he had never been lost before. 

“Did he have a message?” 

“He wanted to write you a letter, write you something. Anything, really. But there were no pencils in the shop and he was in such a hurry--” 

The pencils! He had forgotten. The witch collapsed even more, bent over and trying to keep from crying. He failed at this miserably as his shoulders shook, growing colder and smaller than he had ever felt before in his life. All encompassing clouds nearly drowned him as he pressed his face into his hands. 

He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. And now he would never know. He’d never know about Jack and how he felt. What if he didn’t have a chance to speak to him again? What if this was the end? What if he was hurt or--

An envelope was pressed into his hand. Eric opened it hurriedly, emptying its contents into his hand. 

Jack’s signet ring. 

His hand shaking, Eric slipped it on his finger, kissing it and wishing he had given his pilot a kiss goodbye.


	11. Cabin

Eric awoke the next morning, loathe to lift his head out of bed, it was so heavy with worry. Jack was gone and Eric didn’t know how to save him, how to keep him out of harm’s way. If he’d known, he could have tried to recreate his mother’s good luck poultice or press a blessed clover into a locket. Maybe he could have given him a few strands of hair from his head. 

“Shitty, do you want some pancakes?” Eric asked as he forced himself from bed. He’d given himself this day off. He sniffled a bit, trying to stave off a cold from flying in all that bad weather. 

Shitty didn’t respond.

The witch stretched in front of the range, cracking his wrists and ankles as he got his frying pan out. What he really longed to do was bake, though he pushed that thought away, firmly in the back of his mind. He couldn’t go chasing after that part of himself now. He needed to focus on work. 

“Shitty, c’mon, how many pancakes do you want?” He turned and looked at his black cat, sitting on the windowsill, watching the sea in the distance with a flick of his tail. He lifted a paw to his mustachioed mouth and licked before rubbing his head. 

“Fine, I’m going to eat them all. Are you still angry at me for what I said outside the bakery?” They hadn’t talked since then. Truth be told, it was empty and lonely flying away without his black cat. Without his best friend in the skies with him. 

Eric set down the pan and walked over to Shitty’s side, rubbing underneath his jaw in the way he knew he liked. “C’mon, I’m sorry. No need for the silent treatment.” 

Shitty meowed in response. 

“Very funny. But I meant with words, smartass,” Eric smirked. 

Shitty meowed again, leaning into Eric’s hand.

The smile slipped off of Eric’s face, “Hey I’m… I’m not kidding, Shitty, say something, please.” 

There was no response and Eric knew deep down that he would never hear Shitty talk again. He dropped his hand unceremoniously and ran over to his broom, propped up by the door. “No no no no no no…” He had more time! He still had his whole year ahead of him practically! He knew what his skill was! 

Climbing on his broomstick, he hovered a few inches in the air and then back down with a loud stomp. Eric gasped and made himself fly up again, only to fall on his ass immediately after. He wrenched open the door in naught but his pajamas and ran down the stairs of his second floor home before putting the broom under him, coasting a few feet before crashing down to the yard behind the bakery, slamming his face into the gravel and grass. 

The bells were gone and his magic was gone.

* * *

The next few days passed by in a blur. Shitty had lost himself, he was now only a cat. He meowed at him to eat, though Eric believed it was now only for the cat to eat. He thought of all the times Shitty had chided and parented him. How the last conversation they shared was an argument. How the last thing Shitty probably thought was how horrible Eric was, watching him fly away into a storm. 

Why hadn’t he listened to Shitty? He could have said goodbye to Jack, he could have apologized to his cat. Why did work have to come first? Eric buried himself under the blankets and lost himself there. He was afloat without his magic, reaching out in the air but unable to fly. Jack soared now, and he was on the ground. No longer the pilot that Jack had insisted he was. He had lost all that had made him special, all that his mother loved about him. 

But he had also lost all that his father had been worried about him. At least now he wouldn’t have a son who was a baking witch. He could have a normal son. How could he go home to his mother without his magic? He had failed. 

A hand gently jostled at his shoulder and Eric opened his eyes, half hoping to see Jack.

“No, sorry Bitty, it’s not Jack,” Eric hadn’t realized he had said it aloud as he looked up to see Adam. “We have a friend downstairs in the bakery we want you to meet, okay?” 

Since Eric’s disappearance from the outside world, the deliveries were being made by Adam in the early morning. Justin made him breakfast and brought it up to their out building. Each morning, Eric ate with Justin, both of them silent but hurt. Though Justin said very little, it was clear that he wished he could help Eric. And yet neither of them knew where to start. 

Getting dressed was hard when he knew that he wouldn’t be doing magic that day or flying or talking to Shitty. A large black bruise had appeared on his cheek from the tumble down the stairs, and it only served as a reminder of his lack of flying. He’d spend the day worrying about himself, his mother, his father, Shitty, Jack… it was too much for just himself, still a young green thing that never had the chance to blossom. 

When he stepped in the bakery, Eric was surprised to see a woman with the largest backpack he thinks he had ever seen on a person, never mind the short woman who stood laughing with Justin… the same Justin who rarely spoke and kept to his ovens. It lifted Eric’s spirits a bit to see the man with such a big smile on his face.

“Hey, is this him?” The young woman with dark hair turned around, her eyes twinkling with a life and energy he envied. She stuck her hand out and shook Eric’s. “I’m Larissa. Get your shit together literally, Eric, because we’re gonna get your shit together metaphysically.” 

Eric turned to his friends, “What?” 

“Lardo, I mean Larissa...she’s an artist who lives out of town. We thought it might be nice for you to go with her. See something green instead of the same old ocean, maybe have some time to yourself without all the noise of the city,” Adam smiled, his arm looping around Justin’s waist.

Eric opened his mouth to tell Adam that the ocean was never the same and that it was the color of Jack’s eyes after they kissed, that there was plenty of green on the hills where he had picnicked with the pilot and held hands in the sun, and that the din of the city kept his thoughts about magic and himself at bay… but he closed it.

“Can I bring my cat, Shitty?” Eric was not about to leave him alone this time.

Larissa’s eyebrow quirked up curiously. She moved a hand through her short black hair as she looked at the cat licking his leg on the floor by Eric’s feet. “Uh… how did he get that name? Keep in mind, there  _ is  _ a wrong answer.” 

Eric smiled for the first time in four days, “He told me. He’s my black cat. He does his business like a gentleman.” 

“Well then, fuck it, let’s bring Shitty.” She beamed, “The more the merrier, and I’ve always loved cats. Always wanted one!” She scooped him up and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Oh cool, he has like a little brown mustache.” 

“He’s very special,” Eric agreed. It was a shame that he had lost something that made him so special, just like Eric had. 

* * *

Within three hours, Eric found himself in a bus bouncing down a country road with Larissa, or Lardo, as she insisted to be called. She was an artist of various skills and styles. She loved to put pen to paper or paint to canvas and regarded everything she saw as an opportunity, potential. It felt like a long time ago since Eric had felt the same. Since he had taken to the skies on a summer night and flown into the unknown.

“I’d like to do a painting of you if you’d like. Not like you’d keep it or anything. It’s not like a stuck up classist portrait,” Lardo reassured. “I like to paint people but paint my way. With nature.” She pulled on the cord for the bus to stop, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. They unloaded and Eric unloaded his backpack he had borrowed from Justin from his “wild camping days” as Adam affectionately called it. Shitty sat proudly on Eric’s shoulder before hopping on to Lardo’s as they walked across a meadow to the forest.

From there, they followed a dirt path that lead up to a rustic log cabin, surrounded by tall pine trees and the singing of nesting songbirds. A car was parked under an awning, as though placed there as an afterthought. A stack of firewood was stacked beside the front door and fat squirrels scampered up trees. Wild flowers grew against the home and ivy clung to its side, ascending towards the light. “Is this your home?” 

“Hell yeah. I had to go into the city to visit some friends, sell some art pieces. Get the things you can’t get at the corner market in the village. I like to live pretty independently,” Lardo opened the door to her home and flipped on the lights. 

It was a one room studio with large windows letting in natural light. Plants of every kind were on window sills, in decorated pots and even an old shoe. Canvases and art pieces were stacked against the wall, with a sink on the kitchen side of the room and another sink filled with paint brushes and palettes. This was truly an artist’s home. The decor was eclectic and it was clear that she had traveled well and often, small souvenirs from distant lands found by the bedside table or hung as a sign of good fortune over the door. 

Shitty hopped right up onto a cushion by the warm windowsill, basking in the warmth. Shitty  _ would _ love this, he loved nature in all its forms and had admired it openly and often. “Looks like he’s settled in. Let’s do the same for you.” 

* * *

Darkness had fallen as the two finished up a modest dinner of salads and fresh fruit from Lardo’s garden. Eric helped sweep up the cabin and put things away, doing his part. Shitty had ran around outside and rolled in the leaves, and, true to his word, Shitty was the perfect gentleman. 

Eric and Lardo sat on her big bed, each sipping wine as they listened to the crickets and the settling of the house in the night. Shitty had fallen asleep in Lardo’s lap, purring as she stroked behind his ears as he slept. “Why don’t you want to live in the city? Painting people for their portraits and make some good money?” 

“You sound like my dad,” Lardo chuckled. Eric winced because he knew he had sounded like his, as well. “I like being out here, being independent. I like that I can get up and breathe deep every morning and wait for inspiration to hit. I don’t want to make a lot of money and get sucked in, get stuck doing something that brings me no joy but instead brings me more problems.” She sighed. “So I paint and I sculpt and I remind people of what makes life so magical in the first place.” 

Lardo frowned, “Sorry for saying the M word.” 

“No, it’s… it’s okay,” Eric sighed. “I… I was running from something for a long time with my magic and I think it finally caught up to me. I don’t think I’ll ever use magic again. I’m not talented enough or strong or smart enough to be a good witch.” His voice broke before he took a deep breath. “Sorry.” 

The artist’s hand rubbed comfortingly into his back. “Nothing to be sorry about. Not a damn thing. You can tell me when you’re ready. We’re here for a few days before I’m supposed to get you back into the city and sell my next big piece.” 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Lardo chuckled, “Yeah, not very professional of me but I respect the process. My process and my inspiration. Going into the city was like a break for me. I wonder if magic and painting are all that different.” She set her wine aside and slipped under the covers, guiding Shitty up to lay atop the blankets between them. “Goodnight, Eric.” 

“Goodnight.” Eric slept fitfully before waking with his wine in the early hours of morning to step outside. He truly was alone, without Shitty nor Jack or a part of himself he loved. He looked up at the stars and moon in between the pine trees, wondering if Jack could see the same glittering lights as he could, wherever he was.

* * *

The next morning, Eric watched Lardo make breakfast and the three of them dined, staring at the canvas that was propped up in the center of the room. It was daunting, such a large piece sitting in the sunlight, but Lardo didn’t look afraid. “What are you thinking?” Eric finally broke the silence over the music that she had put on the record player in the corner. It sounded like a distant orchestra during spring, a joyous noise. If Eric’s heart had been lighter, he would have danced.

“Lots of stuff. I try not to let a blank canvas get to me, you know?” 

Eric didn’t quite know. “But there’s nothing on there.” 

“Exactly. And isn’t that the worst of it? I didn’t even try, I let an empty canvas beat me when I could have created something great,” Lardo set down her empty plate and pet Shitty’s ears as he finished up his runny eggs. Shitty immediately leaned into her side and purred.

Eric couldn’t stop his worry from bubbling to the surface. “But what if you mess up? I mean, that canvas had to be expensive, you don’t want to waste it on a whim. What if you’re not as good as you thought you were and it was better off unmade?” 

With a knowing look, Lardo regarded Eric, “We’re not talking about just painting, are we?” 

The witch had to admit that Lardo was right about that. He ducked his head, “I’m sorry.” 

“No, this is good because what you’re feeling is something that happens to me all the time. Sometimes I’m unable to paint anything. Like I’ve lost it.” 

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, “Really? Then what, what happens?” 

“Really, now go sit up there on that stool, I’ve been inspired and I’ll tell you,” Lardo gestured up to the front of the cabin, next to the window. He turned his head as she wanted, only a part of her painting, one vein that would make her art flow together. As she sketched and started to pull paints that called to her, Eric kept fidgeting.

“Calm down, Bitty, it’s hard to draw a moving target,” Lardo chided as she worked. Her glances were quick between the canvas and her subject, but Eric could tell in her gaze that she saw far more than just his profile, than just the way he sat or held himself. Hers were eyes that saw deeper as she bit her lip in concentration, putting her short black hair back with a headband. 

“Without even thinking about it, I used to be able to fly. Now I’m trying to look inside myself to figure out how I did it. Even baking, something I love… I don’t know if what I make will be good, or if it’s worth the time or the love I put into it. I just can’t figure it out,” Eric murmured, Shitty hopping into his lap and resting in the sunlight on his lap. Although he couldn’t speak, Eric could feel the companionship between them, deeper than just talking to one another.

“You know, it could just be you’re working at it too hard. Maybe you should just take a break.” 

“But if I can’t fly and I can’t bake…” 

“Then stop trying. Take long walks, look at the scenery. Doze off at noon. Don’t even think about those bells you were telling me about, about what your dad thinks, about any of that. Take some time, take care of yourself and you’ll be flying and baking again,” Lardo leaned over the canvas and looked him in the eye, unafraid to tell him what she thought.

Eric scoffed, “And you think my problems will just--” 

“Go away? Hell yeah. It’s gonna be fine, I promise. You know, when I was younger, I’d already decided to become an artist. I loved to paint so much, I’d paint and paint and paint until I’d fall asleep right at my easel. But for some reason, one day, I just couldn’t paint anymore. I tried and I tried but nothing seemed to work, nothing flowed, nothing I made made  _ me _ happy,” Lardo leaned back, regarding the witch sitting in her favorite chair, his hope a flickering flame but not out yet.

“What happened?” 

“That’s what I was trying to figure out! Everything I made just seemed like something else I saw in a shop or in a book or what I thought was good. I was making art for someone else. I thought that I loved my skill,” Eric felt goosebumps travel down his arms. He’d done the same. Tried to hide his skill from himself, from what he thought other people would think of him and his family. 

“That’s me,” he whispered.

“There you go, I tried to throw myself into becoming a builder or craftsman, something I could make but had no spark or joy of creativity quite like painting,” Lardo sighed, “But then I found the answer.” She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with joie de vivre.

“I hadn’t figured out just what or why I wanted to paint. I had to discover my own skill, my own style. Something that made me happy and gave life to what I was doing, when you perform magic, it’s all on the inside, right?” 

Eric nodded excitedly, “Yes we… We fly with our spirit.” 

Lardo hopped on her stool, starting to work her sketches over the canvas again, with broader, more confident strokes. She practically glowed with her energy, “That’s exactly what I’m saying! That same spirit makes me paint and you do magic and Justin and Adam bake--” 

“And Jack fly.” Eric finished. He gasped, covering his mouth. It was just as Jack had said, he flew with something deep inside himself, something that pulled him towards the sky the same way that it pulled him to that ceramic baking pan. 

“You just gotta find your inspiration, Bitty. Sometimes it’s not easy.” 

Eric shook his head, “I guess I just got so caught up in training and trying to force my magic into something it’s not, like a copy… that when I found my inspiration, I ran from it. Is it worth it? Is it worth the trouble with my dad or what other people will think?”

Lardo smiled at her rough sketch, “I can’t answer that for you, Eric. No one can. Guy witches are rare things, that’s about all I know. You wouldn’t be the first one who just let it go. And no one can make that decision for you.” She gestured for Eric to hop up to see her work.

The canvas was a mess of grey charcoal, so much that Eric couldn’t really make out himself. “Don’t worry, you’re in there.” Lardo smiled confidently. “And you’re in there, too.” She turned and poked him in the side and he chuckled. 

“I think I’m… I think I’m going to take a long walk.” He smiled at Lardo, placing a hand on her shoulder as they regarded her piece. 

“Sounds good. I’m going to chug away at this. Maybe pick me up some flowers for the drawing? For reference?” 

Eric nodded and made his way back out into the world. With plenty to think about. His spirit felt a little worn, a little heavy and hard to lift off from the ground, but his magic was in there somewhere. He just needed to give it time to rest. 


	12. Return

So the days passed. Eric slowly had started to cook breakfast or lunch when he felt inclined. It was slow and the nights were long, staring up at the winds and wondering where they were taking Jack. The man’s signet ring was heavy on his finger and grounded him from fearing too many things. Other than himself, Jack was the best flyer that he had met.

Jack continued to be brave in ways that Eric was not. 

Eric walked the meadows and wooded paths, collecting flowers for Lardo’s “art”, though the smell of fresh flowers seemed in itself its own reward. Eric missed the azaleas from home and almost wished he could walk the hills of his home. Home had been a scary thought as of late, but with his confidence and love for his magic growing again, Eric knew it was a visit that he’d have to endure. 

Shitty had taken to sleeping more on Lardo’s side of the bed, curling up at her feet and nuzzling against her shoulder. Lardo adored his little mustache marking and Eric felt as though his best friend had finally found a home he loved. In nature, where things were quiet and simple and surrounded by light and Lardo’s superb belly rubs.

It had been about four days of quiet and watching Lardo create and trying his hand at a little painting when she announced it was time to take him back to Justin and Adam. No doubt they would be worried, since he had unofficially been like their baby as they prepared for their own.

Lardo put him on a bus that would take him back into town and she promised as she held his hand out of the dusty bus window that they’d see one another again soon. With the painting and Shitty in tow. 

Yes, Eric had elected to leave Shitty behind. He had never been happy in the city and if he could talk, he knew that the cat probably would have wanted a longer vacation away from the noise and hubbub. So they were parted temporarily, with the witch venturing out on his own, back to a place that he had made into his home. The city was louder than before, hotter than before, and the stark difference between the forest and the city sent Eric reeling. He called for a taxi and was driven back to the bakery. 

The first thing he saw as he hefted the backpack from the small automobile was a wooden sign that hung beside the bakery’s.  _ Bitty’s Delivery Service _ in swirling letters, cut from maple. A boy in robes sat atop his broomstick in the center of a circle of braided bread. A carved cat was sitting just behind him. It was painted in light blue paint and perfect. His heart broke at the sight of it, for his broom was likely collecting dust up in his room. 

The welcome back was bittersweet. Adam could barely get two words in before Justin swooped in and picked him up, silent but spinning him around joyfully. As they settled in Justin and Adam’s home, Eric could see all the other new wooden creation in the house, besides his sign. Sanded down to buttery softness was a baby’s crib. “She’ll be coming on the sixteenth. Please, when she comes home, would you bake her a cake?” 

Eric chuckled as he hugged Adam and Justin in one big stretch, “She’ll be a newborn, how is she going to eat it?” 

“Oh no,  _ we’ll _ eat it,” Adam reassured him as they all laughed together.

The witch continued to unpack in the sunny afternoon, the sounds of the radio predicting beautiful weather all week. “Did I receive any letters since I’ve been gone? Or any news about The Falconers?” 

The silence was answer enough. 

The morning deliveries would be done not by broom but by a bicycle that Adam had liked to keep healthy on when he was younger. Now Justin had loaded it with a basket in the front, perfect for placing loaves and other morning deliveries. Eric knew that he’d be asked questions by other people, asked questions by his friends he’d made along his route as to where his broom went, where Shitty had gone… He almost couldn’t get back on the bicycle and begin his commute so early in the morning. How would he tell them it was all his fault? That he hadn’t been strong? 

Pushing off the kickstand, Eric took off down the cobbled streets still lit by street lamp to deliver to all of his customers. The only place he had to cross off his list was the Haus. No one lived there anymore with the deployment. 

Most people welcomed him back and didn’t ask about the broomstick, one child asked about Shitty as she clung to her mother’s dressing gown, and Eric’s usually angry customer managed to ruffle his hair before slamming the door in the early morning. All that was left after the dewey and chilly morning ride was the retirement home. He hadn’t seen Moira, the caretaker, nor Clara in so long.

The grass sparkled in the early morning, covered in dew. His breath became a puff of air as he coasted along the paved roads near the sea. The mornings had gotten so cold and the days so hot, fall would be upon them soon. Eric could already picture the trees turning brilliant colors back home, of golden yellow and scarlet. Since coming back from the cabin with Lardo, Eric could begin to think of home cautiously, with happiness again. No longer with fear or worry. 

Pulling up to the gates of the retirement community, he was welcomed back warmly by the inquisitive residents. “There’s our favorite witch!” One clapped excitedly in their wheelchair, while the others came up and gave Eric slow but tender hugs. Moira, the tall and wizened headmistress looked on with a proud smile.

“It’s so nice to see you all again!” Eric greeted everyone before turning to Moira. “Where’s Clara?” He asked. She always loved to dote on him, reminding her of her brother.

Moria frowned, “She took ill last night. We’ve sent her to her bed. But I’ll tell her you stopped by.” 

Eric agreed but as he stood in the ornate retirement home, he couldn’t help but cast curious glances down the corridor. He promised to have breakfast with the residents the next time he visited, though he hoped it would be on a broomstick. On the way back to the bakery atop his bicycle, Eric made up his mind to make something for Clara to feel better. The early morning bustle of cars, horses, and people heading to work or out on errands clogged the streets but brought with it the sound of life so unlike the forest’s chirps and songs. Perhaps a bit of a break wasn’t too bad, but this thrum of the city seemed to give Eric life.

Back in the bakery, in the early morning light, Eric beamed at Justin and Adam as they went about their morning work. As Adam called for bread in the store, Justin would appear, silent with a tender smile with a warm loaf for the customer. The looks they shared between one another were kind and filled with a tenderness that made Eric long for Jack. 

As the sun rose higher and they closed for lunch, Eric looked down into his teacup as the expectant parents shared their hopes and their dreams for their child. They discussed with fervor a name for their baby, coming so soon to them. Thankfully, they didn’t pull Eric too much into the conversation, but they did inquire once more about the birthday cake.

“Before I make that, I think I’d like to make something for Clara, a woman at Oceanburrow Manor. I hear that she’s taken ill. But I don’t know if it’ll be any good…” Eric turned the teacup around in his fingers, gazing down at the tea there. 

Adam smiled, reaching over to place a hand on his shoulder, “Well, whatever you wish, we will be happy to eat or sell what you think is unfit for Clara. So many people loved the pies that we sold at the counter, remember, Justin?” 

The man with the dark eyes nodded, a smile on his face. “I’ll eat anything you make, Eric.” 

“Whatever you do, you have our support,” Adam smiled. “Now, let’s have some lunch.” 

* * *

Eric pulled on his oven mitts, gazing into the oven as he pulled the dish out. Justin gave him room as he worked his dough with large and calloused hands. “You good?” 

Setting it down quickly on a trivet, Eric nodded, “I’m good. We didn’t have an oven like this back home, but I think I did pretty well.” He chuckled nervously as he gazed down at the peach cobbler. It was still juicy, tender, and oozing with sweetness. The crumble on top appeared to have a crunch, but wasn’t too burnt. It had been a while since Eric had made something like this. It was in a larger dish to share with the residents at Oceanburrow, though it would make it difficult to travel with in the basket.

As though reading his mind, Justin piped up, “I’ll drive you with the truck tomorrow, I was going to pick up some flowers for Adam, anyway.” 

Eric blushed, “Look at you two, as sweet on each other as when you got married.” It was no secret that in the witch’s heart, he wanted to have a love as strong and beautiful as that. 

“That’s the plan,” Justin’s low voice cut through the sounds of the bakery, the crackle of the embers. The bell in the front of the shop rang and Adam’s happy voice called out in greeting. Justin couldn’t seem to stop the smile that rose on his lips. 

As a witch, Eric could learn how to bake that love into a pie or cake. He would know how to create a dessert that could herald inspiration or laughter. If this was truly his skill, then he would begin to study it in fervor, to always have flour on his hands or sugar under his fingernails. 

Maybe he wasn’t going to create perfect bakes all the time, or desserts that could change lives and hearts… But at least he knew how to start with a peach cobbler that could bring a smile to someone’s face. And sometimes? Sometimes that was enough. 


	13. Maurice

Just like usual, Eric woke up early, before the sun rose. There was a chill in the air in his little room, the ocean breeze bringing with it a salty wind. The cold sent a chill through the man, raising his pale skin in goosebumps. The days were truly becoming shorter and the nights longer. Autumn was upon them. 

Standing from bed, Eric got dressed in his dark robes, giving a little twirl in the mirror. It had been quite a few days since he had woke up like this, rejuvenated and smelling a little bit like cinnamon. The morning may be cold, the sun may not be out, but Eric was ready to greet the day regardless. At least it was on his own terms.

Before he left his home that he had made, Eric cast a tender gaze to his broom. It was still propped up by the door, as though ready to go on his next adventure with him. With a great sigh, Eric let his fingers brush against the handle of the broomstick. “I’ll see you soon, beautiful.” 

Justin was packing the work truck when Eric made his way down. It was a light blue thing, with white wall tires, and a rounded face and body. It was a comfortable ride, though the bakers still liked to walk where they needed to go, hand in hand.

Fetching the peach cobbler, Eric climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up, holding his cobbler closely and lovingly. Bumping along the cobblestoned road, the pair of them set out in jovial silence. He knew that he could have turned on the radio to receive a bulletin about Jack but turning the dial would only make him more upset, would only make him more sad. He didn’t think he could bear it if he heard any news about what had happened to his pilot.

Although their time together had been brief, Eric could feel a connection to the man as though it had been woven from all their words, their soft looks, their kisses. The truck jostled him from his memories as it came to a stop at the first delivery stop. It wouldn’t do to remember and be filled with remorse. Jack was off protecting the country, off keeping their little city safe. Wherever he was. 

The deliveries were all kind enough, with another inquisitive child in their nightie asking why Eric couldn’t fly anymore. As his heart sank, he promised the child he was giving his broom a break. Eric would give almost anything if that were true. Justin squeezed his shoulder silently as they bumped along. It was a wonder how Adam and Justin had ever fallen in love when the man spoke so few words. 

Finally, they had arrived at the retirement manor, the gates sliding open as they pulled in. All of this added security, the wrought iron gate and the tall, ornate fence had never deterred Eric, who had simply floated in on the wind. Eric let his thoughts of Jack fall to the wayside as he held his peach cobbler a little closer. Another small gift from a small witch, just like that cinnamon bread he had always made sure to pack for Moira, her residents, and, of course, Clara. 

Justin stood around for the elderly residents who were awake, helping cut the bread and toasting it on the fire for them, adding generous pads of butter to each. Eric was fairly sure he could hear the murmur of elderly women openly, and loudly, admiring his muscles. He was discreetly led away by Ms Moira, walking down a candle lit hallway. Eric held his cobbler closer to him, like a bouquet of flowers. Softly, in another room, he could hear old music playing. The kind that Eric would play on his radio to put himself to sleep on tearful or angry nights back home.

With one step in the room, Eric knew this was where Clara would remain. 

The window was open, with the curtains letting in the distant sunrise. Propped up by pillows, she had been looking out the window, when she turned and smiled toothlessly to Eric, a shaking hand reaching up him.

“Maurice! I never thought you’d come see me again.” Her voice trembled like her hand. 

Setting the peach cobbler aside, Eric went to her side. Her wheelchair was nowhere to be found. Put away… or already given to someone else. He took her hand and smiled comfortingly. “I baked you a peach cobbler, thought it might lift your spirits a little.” 

The light that had flared up in her eyes faded, “Oh… you’re not Maurice. You’re my other witch. The one who bakes and sneaks me yummy bread.” She chuckled before a great wracking cough shook her. Moira rushed to her side, the clack of her heels insistent on the hardwoods, but Clara shook her head. Her white hair was braided loosely at her shoulder and a little more came undone. “Shoo, I’m alright.” 

Clara smiled up at her caretaker. “Best help you could do is get us some coffee and two forks for that cobbler. We’re fixing to eat it from the dish.” She pointed a gnarled hand in the direction of Eric’s treat. 

The caretaker of the manor chuckled before nodding and sweeping from the room, her footsteps quieting. 

“Ms Clara, you said I’m your other witch, was this Maurice,” Eric leaned forward, about to hang on her every word, “was he one, too?” 

The elderly woman sighed shakily before nodding, “My brother was. He’d make flowers spring from nothing. When he laughed, he sounded like a babbling brook. Oh how we laughed! He was such a jokester. When he sneezed, even, it’d sound like wind in the trees!” She chuckled. “We’d walk to school in the snow and flowers would grow in his footprints. We followed the smell of daffodils on foggy mornings. Maurice was a witch. He was good luck. Well,” her eyes dimmed again, as though remembering great tragedy, “when he was young. He tried to give a flower to a girl he was sweet on, but…she turned his flower away. It was purple and white and green, yellow, and red it-it even had stars on it. How’d, how’d you turn that down?” Her voice rose as she got more upset.

Eric shushed her gently, rubbing her arm lovingly. She seemed to sink further into the bed, relaxing. “My father plucked every flower, burned them in the fireplace. His heart burned with them. Our father would never accept him. Flowers were a woman’s hobby, not meant for a strong man of the mountains. Cutting timber, destroying the Earth, destroying these flowers and plants… That was what my father wanted him to become. So he said, either your wicked ways or the family. Maurice loved me so much, he didn’t want me alone up there with him.” She took a great, shaking breath, “I never saw those flowers again. He became a logger and later a clerk at a store, and he never even kept a garden. No plants, no flowers. He didn’t even pickle during the winter.” 

Her eyes drifted towards the window, as though waiting for someone to come in, open to invite in the past. Eric didn’t know what to say, his throat had closed. “So it was just gone?” 

“He made it go away. He got too old, or too stubborn. He became so quiet, I couldn’t coax a smile out of him anymore. When the flowers went, his soul went with them. He was only sixteen,” Clara took his hand, her wide eyes, dim with age and weary with memories bore into his. 

“This part of you is a gift. A higher power or your parents or fate may have given it to you. But the only one who can snuff it out is you. Maurice made that decision, but you don’t have to do the same. Those flowers brought him and others joy. It’s so rare these days, don’t let that part of you wither, don’t let it fade,” Clara looked towards the door when Moira walked back in, holding a small serving tray of coffee and utensils.

It occurred to Eric then as Moira helped set up their breakfast dessert that Clara, with her keen eyes, had noticed his absence from flying. She had only thought it was her brother, Maurice, and not him. He thought about Maurice’s family, Clara’s father, and how his hands had destroyed what he had created. Was Eric doing the same thing? Even if his father believed the same as Clara’s, that baking was no place for a man, that witchcraft was unnatural for boys… Eric didn’t think he had it in him to snuff out this part of him, but he didn’t think he could be as brave as Clara wanted. 

“I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.” The headmistress disappeared from the room with a sad smile as Clara struggled to lift her fork without spilling the contents. She looked so feeble. Eric set down his coffee and helped her with the first bite, her lips smacking slowly. As Eric sipped his coffee and Clara got ready to take her first bite, he thought more about what Lardo said. What he did was a part of his spirit, it came from deep within him. And who was he to turn this gift away like Clara had said? Most days it still felt like a curse, or a gift that had been taken from him by his own hand. 

“This is delicious! Much better than the sailor rations they give us here!” Came a hearty chuckle from the bed. Eric turned and looked back to Clara, already on her fourth forkful of peach cobbler. Eric’s jaw dropped. Her eyes were bright and strong, her hair seemed tighter and stronger in its braid, her hands were steady, and her toothless smile eager as she ate more. “What  _ did  _ you put in this, Eric?” 

Eric gasped, “Ms Clara, you called me Eric.” 

“Of course I did, that’s your name, isn’t it?” It was Eric’s turn to shake. This woman looked fine, looked healthy and alert. Nothing like the shell of a spirited woman when he walked into the room. 

“Ms Moira! Come quick!” Eric called down the hall as he went to her side. “Careful now, don’t eat too much or you’ll get sick.” 

“Sick?” The woman scoffed, “ _ Sick _ ? I’m healthy as a horse, never been sickly a day in my life.” 

The normally prim caretaker rushed back into the room, going straight to Clara’s side. Her jaw dropped as she spotted the woman in her bed. “Moira, be a lamb and get us some ice cream, this baby tastes so good, it deserves to be a la mode! That’s what the kids are calling it these days, right?” 

Eric and Moira could only turn to each other in shock. Had his peach cobbler done this? He took his fork and scooped some of the silky, slippery cobbler to his mouth. He sighed immediately at the taste. The crispy, buttery top, popped along his tongue and he felt a foundation, firm, build within him. He stood a little straighter, fortified by the crust. Then came the sweet peaches, plump and juicy, they slid along his tongue as though waltzing. Eric felt a warmth like his mother’s hugs envelop him, could feel her love and her tenderness as he chewed.

He could hear the ringing of his family’s bells chime once. Twice. Thrice.

And they faded away. 


	14. Homecoming

Moira and Eric sat with Clara and chuckled along with her as they listened to the radio. Eric was still glowing. He had done it! He had performed magic, confirming that baking was his skill as a witch. He was a witch with a skill, which meant that training was just around the corner. He could bake anything into pies and cobblers and cakes and streusel and-- Eric took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. 

He was going to write home to tell his mother of his skill, to tell his family how he missed them, and, finally, to tell his father how much he wanted to make him proud. This was a part of who he was and he was not going to snuff out this fiery part of him that yearned to help others and make the world a little sweeter.

The music was interrupted with a chiming bell on the radio and the tremulous voice of a concerned broadcaster, “ _ We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news, there’s been a terrible accident! All residents are asked to get in doors quickly! A towing aircraft carrying the injured plane of The Spirit, is losing its cargo and the pilot inside! _ ”

Eric didn’t understand. All he knew was that he was on his feet, listening with bated breath. The Spirit? Surely they didn’t mean… 

Justin’s thundering steps hurtled into the room as he went to get Bitty, leading him to the window and pointing wordlessly in the distance. Trying to get back to The Falconers’ airfield was a large and imposing zeppelin. A thick cable connected the zeppelin to an all too familiar biplane that was currently flying but barely, black smoke leaking from it, and kicking forward unpredictably. This procession was followed by the entire fleet of Falconer aircraft, watching at a distance, unable to help the pilot. They moved over the hills bordering the city, away from civilians in case… 

“ _ We are led to believe by communicating with the pilot of the zeppelin Brigadier that the pilot is still in the aircraft, trying to control the injured plane. The zeppelin is helping keep the famous red plane on the correct path, but if the engine gives out, the cable might not be enough to hold up the plane and the pilot inside of it! _ ” 

Eric took a deep breath and turned to headmistress of Oceanburrow, “I need a broom.” 

* * *

Striding out of the retirement manor, Eric stood in the front lawn. An ocean breeze blew hard, making his hair blow back. A strong enough gust and the plane could sputter off course. But right now, he had to see Jack, to make sure he landed. He spied the scarlet biplane in the distance, away from civilians on the ground. 

Eric swung a leg over the broomstick, a push broom that was the fastest Moira could get in his hands. He took a deep breath and tried to find that magic within him, tried to find that power that he had buried. Nothing happened. 

The witch concentrated, trying to summon magic that had come so easily to him before. Throwing a glance behind him, he tried to focus. Moira and other residents held their hands close to their hearts, worried and in awe. Justin stood there, silent as ever but no less encouraging. Clara leaned out the window of her bedroom in the manor, and gave a hearty wave. He could do this. He could. 

“Fly.” 

With a sudden and violent jolt, Eric shrieked as he was suddenly lifted into the sky. He veered far right and then tried to overcorrect to the left, but nearly ran into some trees. He tried to find a steady path, his mind racing with thoughts, overthinking how to fly, something he knew how to do since he was young. The wind gusts certainly didn’t help, pushing the scarlet biplane like it was a children’s model on a string.

Eric sped after the zeppelin and The Spirit, the wind wicking tears from his eyes as he made his chase. His purple robes fluttered around him in the breeze as he sped over houses and trees to the vast meadows near the cliffs and rocky shore near the airbase. 

Unfortunately, the biplane looked no better the closer that Eric got. It was bashed and bruised and still sputtering and limply following behind. Eric wondered if steering was even possible anymore and Jack was only needed to man the iconic plane. As he drew closer, the plane gave a violent lurch and black smoke erupted from the tail. The scarlet plane began to drop, falling through the sky until it was caught by the cable, yanking the aircraft back up by its nose.

Jack now sat with his back to the ground, looking straight up at the bottom of the zeppelin, in a plane that he could no longer fly. The spirited machine was now only a hunk of metal, smoking and dangerous, as it dangled above the place where they had picnicked for Eric’s birthday.

Even at such a distance, Eric could see the panic of the men in the zeppelin observation deck, scattering and running back and forth. A man with a large cone began to shout directions to the pilot within. Something was wrong. 

The cable was not strong enough to withstand the dead weight and the sudden pull from it freefalling moments before. 

Leaning forward with all his might, Eric raced through the skies. He watched as Jack climbed out of his seat with nothing keeping him from the ground but his grip on his worn plane. He was trying to get to the cable, to grab on before his plane fell. But he’d never make it in time.

“ _ Jack _ !” Eric screamed desperately, pulling up to see him. “Take my hand!” The wind swung the plane back and forth, making it hard for Eric to stay still and grab him. 

The man called out, equal parts thrilled and cautious for their safety, “Bitty! Be careful!” His goggles were lopsided, his hair ruffled in the breeze and his gloved hand reached out towards Eric. He tried to reach out but shifting his weight against the metal of the plane made it give more, the cable taut and fraying. 

Eric tried again to grab his hand, the smoke from the burning plane and the wind gusts keeping them apart. “Damn it!”

“I’m going to jump!” 

“What?” Eric must have heard wrong. There was no way that this wild idiot was going to jump across nothing to his hand. 

But as he lifted his fingers to count off, the man could only get to two before the cable snapped and Jack lost his grip, the plane spiraling to the ground and his love plummeting towards the beach below.

Eric had never flown so fast in his life, his broomstick pointed straight at the ground as he reached out his hand for Jack to take. He raced away from his doubts, the wind ripping tears from his eyes as he reached for Jack. Everything else fell away, gone on the wind as he fully embraced his power. With one hand on the broom handle, Eric leapt forward, grabbing Jack’s arm feet before he touched the ground. 

The pair slowly drifted to the ground like leaves on the breeze. 

Their legs shaking and rushing with adrenaline, both sank to the ground when they touched back to earth. Jack pulled Eric into his arms, kissing whatever part of him he could get his lips to. Word seemed gone from them, left only with laughter and tears. The time for quips and sweet nothings would come but for now, they were together and safe. 

And Eric had flown with his Spirit. 

* * *

“Did it hurt when you fell from hea--I mean, a banged up biplane?” Eric managed to tease as they sat in the back of Justin’s delivery truck, thick quilts wrapped around the pair of them. Photographers and reporters were kept at bay, away from the lovebirds. Miraculously, neither man had been injured. The plane had suffered an unknown engine failure on their return back to the city and the zeppelin had come to his aid. There was no international threat, only a false alarm that the Falconers had responded to.

Paramedics had come to their aid, concerned bakers, charismatic reporters, and raucous pilots but it was their comfort in knowing the other was safe that made the best company of all.

Jack couldn’t seem to stop kissing Eric’s hair, his forehead, his cheek, temple, his ear, anywhere. “I’m so sorry I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.” Eric might have found this public affection annoying if he hadn’t been doing the same in return since they had been given a quilt to snuggle up in.

“No hon, it was my fault. I just had to go make silly deliveries in the rain,” Eric frowned, “I turned away from logic, didn’t listen to reason. I’d been doing that a lot. I’m just sorry that you suffered because of it.” He lifted his finger, “But would you look at me? Pinned. Or, I guess ringed?” He laughed awkwardly.

Jack took Eric’s hand and kissed the back of it, “Don’t you mean engaged?” 

A solid smack to Jack’s shoulder could be heard up and down the beach, “Jack Zimmermann, don’t you dare go pulling any of that on me, I’ll have you know that it’s a very serious matter to become affianced and you ain’t doing it here on this beach with a cold front moving in and having almost died.” 

Rubbing the tender spot on his muscled shoulder, Jack winced before winking, “But I can do it somewhere else, Mr. Witch?” 

Eric blushed furiously, “How dare you, I’ll have you know that you’re looking at a witch with goals that have nothing to do with settling down with a rowdy pilot like yourself.” 

“No?” 

“No. I found my skill and you bet I’ll be trying my damndest to be the best baking witch this side of the sea,” Eric looked prim and serious. 

“I’m sorry all I heard was that I’d get free pies and cakes.” Jack teased before he wrapped Eric in a hug, their foreheads touching, “I’m glad. I know you’ll be amazing, Eric. Ever since you hit me in the sky with that broom of yours, I had a feeling.” 

“ _ You _ nearly ran over  _ me _ ,” Eric corrected with a tender kiss to his nose.

“Oh no no no, if you couldn’t hear propellers, then clearly you weren’t looking where  _ you _ were going,” Jack responded with a gentle kiss to where his jaw met neck. 

“Well if bigheaded pilots didn’t think they owned the sky…” 

For the rest of the day and for many afterwards, the pair had their fair share of blessings, bickering, and baking. Most would call it life, but they called it a happily ever after.


	15. Epilogue

Even after all this time, Eric still loved to watch the sun rise over the ocean. It was a miracle every morning, however another miracle had joined him, far more intimate than the sunlight rising over the shores. “Sweetpea, you’re going to make me late.” 

The response against his chest was muffled and punctuated by a kiss across his collarbone. “I’m sorry but I didn’t quite catch that.” Eric teased, pressing a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. 

Another kiss to his sternum set a blush to Eric’s cheeks. “I’m sorry but also not at the same time. You’re too comfy for your own good.” 

The witch giggled, guiding the heavy pilot off of him and to his side of the bed. The superstitious military man would sleep on no other side, insisting that from his angle he could watch the sunrise through his golden hair, and marvel at his good luck for finding his love… Eric was not proud to admit that earned the pilot quite a few additional minutes in bed. 

“Oh no, I think the comfiest we’ve ever been was that night in the cow barn. Wasn’t that a wonderful night?” Eric asked sarcastically, pushing himself up off the goose feather mattress to change into a dark purple vest, matching trousers, and white shirt. And of course, his bow tie.

“One of my favorites. It was the first I’d ever slept with you in my arms,” Jack replied, leaning up to watch Eric get dressed. The boy even had the nerve to pout. 

Eric threw a smirk over his shoulder, “Ah ah ah, that’s not going to work.” He teased. “You’re not going to get me back into that bed. Lardo is supposed to be coming for breakfast.” 

“I could come for breakfast.” 

“You’d be going for  _ trouble _ ,” Eric accused, brushing his hair as he nagged his pilot, “Adam and Justin both suspect that you’re spending nights up here, and in their out building no less!” He turned back to his mirror, “It’s all very improper, my beau being in my bed and no ring on my finger.” 

Jack protested, though it was meek, “You have a ring on your finger.” 

“You know what I mean, you fly boy.” 

It  _ was _ true though. The knowing looks between Justin and Adam were loud and obvious...which Eric and Jack were both trying very hard not to be in the moonlight. The couple already had a baby that kept them up at all hours, anyway. They didn’t need any other late night noises. Eric had never been one for tradition but there were days that he wished he did have Jack’s promise on his finger. His family’s signet ring was special and beautiful, and Eric didn’t need jewels, but he wanted so much for his upcoming birthday to be engaged.

The Falconers hadn’t been called out since the accident and the military released more and more of their soldiers every day. It would finally seem that the rumors of another war that had been looming were put to rest. Jack hadn’t quite hung up his jacket, but it did spend more time wrapped around Eric on windy days than up in the sky on windy training flights.

Jack still hadn’t replied about the engagement so Eric did not tempt the man further into a conversation. “I’m heading down to breakfast. I’ll see you later.” He took in, one last time, the beautiful sight of a shirtless Jack Zimmermann in his bed, the blankets pooling round his waist as he sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. The sight alone was nearly enough to get the witch back into bed with him. 

Nearly.

Before Eric could stride out of his bedroom, Jack leaned over and caught his hand. He seemed at a loss for words but finally pressed a kiss to his knuckles before smiling up at him. “I’ll see you there.” 

“You will not. The last time even the baby realized where you were last night.” 

“Oh no she didn’t.” 

“Oh yes she did.” 

So the back and forths were exchanged before Eric closed the door to his little attic flat and walked down the stairs to greet the morning. So much had changed since he had flown here. This would be his first birthday soon that he would celebrate in the city he had chosen to live, the first birthday spent with Jack, and the first studying his skill. Eric was keen on his skill, studying recipe books and other baking tomes, even old books on magic by candlelight before he was carried off to bed. 

It was a good life. 

Eric stepped into the back door of the kitchen and immediately scooped up the baby in the high chair. “There’s the beautiful baby girl!” The little girl cooed, patting his face. Adam and Justin were busy assembling all the bread they needed for the morning. They would have a late start today as they welcomed Lardo for breakfast. Eric was ecstatic. He secretly hoped that she would bring his black cat. He knew since he didn’t need his cat’s guidance Shitty would no longer talk, but Eric still missed his feline companionship. 

The witch focused on feeding the little baby baker as Justin and Adam rushed around them, setting out things for breakfast while also working on their small business. Since Eric had begun to experiment with sweet bakes and selling them in the bakery, it only meant they were more busy. Which was both a blessing (in the form of a new oven and pencils always being behind the counter) and a curse as Eric became the doting babysitter in between deliveries and for mealtimes such as this.

Not moments after Eric had begun to feed the youngest baker did Jack slip in from the back door. The witch raised his eyebrow as Adam and Justin both paused to smirk, thinking it Lardo. 

“Sorry, the front door was locked.” 

“Ah welcome, Mr. Zimmermann! Just in time for breakfast. Again. You’re the best at guessing when we sit down to eat,” Adam teased as he pulled another loaf from the oven, setting it out to cool. 

Jack smiled in return, a bit sheepish as he sat down on the baby’s other side. “Good morning, Justin and Adam. Good morning little one.” He let his hands gently smooth down the baby’s wispy hairs. “Eric.” 

“Jack.” 

Adam whistled lowly, “Uh oh, must have slept on the wrong side of the bed.” 

Eric raised his eyebrows, “Excuse me, there is a baby right here!” 

“The baby is where?” A young woman’s voice called out in the hustle and bustle of the bakery. “I was told I’d get to spoil a baby!” 

Eric was immediately on his feet with Adam as they dashed towards the back door. Lardo stood there with her hiking backpack and a recyclable bag on her arm, no doubt filled with baby gifts. “Beau is just paying the driver. He’ll be right up.” She was immediately met with fierce hugs and a short, but sweet welcome. She seemed to take to Jack well, even though Eric’s heart had been about ready to pour from his chest when he had stayed and visited during his issue with his magic. 

“So where’s Shitty?” Eric asked as he handed over the beautiful baby girl to Lardo to bounce on her knee. 

The young artist winced, letting the baby snuggled into the crook of her arm. “I’m sorry, Eric. I couldn’t find him. After a few days, he took off. I couldn’t find him. I thought maybe he had gone rogue, you know?” 

Gone rogue? But that didn’t sound like his cat at all. He knew that the feline was the happiest in nature but he also knew that Shitty didn’t like to be without his food and a comfy pillow. Immediately, Eric was seized with worry. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The answer seemed easy, “It’s not that he’s lost, Bits. He’s still around. Sometimes he brings me a dead mouse and puts it on the front stoop, or he shows up in other ways. He’s okay, he’s just not an indoor cat anymore. I left out plenty of food for him before I left. I think he’s okay.” 

Before Eric could continue his interrogation about his beloved black cat, he heard the back door open again. Again? They weren’t expecting anyone else. “I’ll tell you what, Riss, we should just get our own damn truck. Dude was going on about raising the price, not a bro at all.” 

Eric knew that voice.

The witch stood up straight and watched as a man with long wavy hair and a telltale mustache climb up the backdoor steps to the kitchens. He wore a denim vest, trousers, and a man’s undershirt dyed with flowers. “Oh, Eric, this is Beau. We met one day, kind of by accident. I think I’ll keep him around.” The blush on her face told Eric all he needed to know.

The man stepped forward and hugged Eric, foregoing a handshake. “Nice to meet you, bro. Sorry to hear about your cat. Riss was real tore up about it.” He pulled back long enough to give Eric a single wink, so fast that Eric may have mistaken it for something else. 

So that was what happened to black cats after they helped their witches. They could find their own happiness. 

Sitting down to breakfast with the rowdy people all around him, Eric took Jack’s hand under the dining room table as the conversations grew to a low roar around him. Never had the witch imagined such blessings in his life. Eric used to think magic was the sweetest thing he could have in this world. But with one look around the raucous table, Eric knew it wasn’t the magic he could make, but that he could share and make with others. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you a million times to my beta loveyoutoobits for helping this fic through the drudgery of bad grammar, poor spelling, and gaping plot holes. She is a saint!  
A very special thank you to Amber, my artist for this bang. She is so talented and such a joy, please check out her tumblr and work here: amberultramarine.tumblr.com  
Also a thank you to the great community around the OMGCP Big Bang of 2019. You're all fantastic artisans and I'm very happy to have joined you all for this celebration of a great fandom.  
You can find me on tumblr at: itsybitsybitty.tumblr.com
> 
> Copy Right Note  
I've used some direct quotes from the movie Kiki's Delivery Service. These quotes are not my own, though I've affectionately included them in this fic without the intention of profiting from them. I hope this fic has inspired you to watch and appreciate (legally) Kiki's Delivery Service.


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